CHAPTER IV
A NIGHT AT DALY'S

"I will read this letter to see if it is of any importance," said Mark. "In that case I will forward it to Syracuse."

He read as follows:

"Wall Street Exchange.

"Dear Sir: In reference to the mining stock about which you inquire, our information is that the mine is a valuable one, and very productive. The stock is held in few hands, and it is difficult to obtain it. You tell me that it belongs to an estate of which you are the administrator. I advise you to hold it awhile longer before you seek to dispose of it. We are about to send an agent to Nevada to look after some mining interests of our own, and will authorize him also to look up the Golden Hope mine.

"Yours truly,

"Crane & Lawton,

"Stock and Mining Brokers."

Mother and son looked at each other significantly.

Finally Mark said, "This mining stock must have belonged to grandfather."

"Yes; I remember now his alluding to having purchased a hundred shares of some mine."

"The brokers say they are valuable. Yet Uncle Solon has never said anything about them. Mother, he means to defraud us of our share in this property, supposing that we will hear nothing about it."

"How shameful!" exclaimed Mrs. Mason indignantly. "I will sit right down and write him a letter taxing him with his treachery."

"No, mother; I don't want you to do anything of the kind."

"You don't want us to submit to imposition? That don't sound like you, Mark."

"I mean that he shall give us whatever is our due, but I don't want him to suspect that we know anything of his underhand schemes. He hasn't sold the mining stock yet."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Leave the matter in my hands, mother. I will keep the letter, and it will always be evidence against him. He is shrewd, and will get full value for the stock. Then we can make him hand you your share."

"If you think that is best, Mark," said Mrs. Mason doubtfully. "I haven't much of a head for business."

"I think I have, mother. There is nothing I like better."

"Did you see Mrs. Mack about a loan? I didn't think to ask you, as your uncle came in with you when you returned from up-stairs."

"Yes, I saw her, but it was of no use."

"Then she won't lend us the money?"

"No, she is afraid to, though I offered her twenty-five cents interest. I told her that I should have nine dollars coming in on Saturday, but she thought something might prevent my getting it."

"Then I had better pawn my ring. The landlord won't wait even a day for his money."

"Don't be in a hurry, mother. The rent is not due till day after to-morrow, and something may happen between now and then to put me in funds."

"Perhaps you are right, Mark."

Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. Opening it, Mark saw another telegraph boy in the entrance. He had a paper in his hand.

"You're to go there," he said, handing Mark a card. "Put on your best clothes. It's a lady to take to the theater."

"All right, Jimmy. I'll be ready in a jiffy. Do you know what theater?"

"No, I don't. The lady will tell you."

"Mother, I'll be home late," said Mark. "I must put on some clean clothes. Is my collar dirty?"

"Yes, you had better put on a clean one. I don't like your being out so late. I thought you were through for the day."

"I'll get extra pay, mother, and every little helps."

"I say, Mark," said Jimmy, "you'd better wear your dress suit and diamond scarf-pin."

"I would, Jimmy, only I lent 'em both to a bootblack of my acquaintance who's going to attend a ball on Fifth Avenue to-night."

Jimmy laughed.

"You've always got an answer ready, Mark," he said. "Well, so long! Hope you'll have a good time."

"Where does the lady live, Mark?" asked Mrs. Mason.

"At No. 90 West Forty-Fifth Street. I haven't much time to spare. I must go as soon as I can get ready."

It was half-past seven o'clock before Mark rang the bell at a fine brown stone house on West Forty-Fifth Street. The door was opened by a colored servant, who, without speaking to Mark, turned his head, and called out: "The messenger's come, Miss Maud."

"I'm so glad," said a silvery voice, as a young lady of twenty, already dressed for the street, came out of a room on the left of the hall. Mark took off his hat politely.

"So you are the messenger boy?" she said. "You are to take me to Daly's Theater."

"Yes, miss. So I heard."

"Let us go at once. We will take the horse cars at Sixth Avenue, and get out at Thirtieth Street."

Before she had finished they were already in the street.

"I must explain," she said, "that my uncle bought two tickets this morning and expected to accompany me, but an important engagement has prevented. I was resolved to go, and so I sent for a messenger. Perhaps you had better take the tickets."

"All right, Miss – ."

"Gilbert. As you are to be my escort I will ask your name."

"Mark Mason."

"Shall I call you Mark, or Mr. Mason?" she asked with a roguish smile.

"I would rather you would call me Mark."

"Perhaps, as you are taking the place of my uncle, it would be proper to call you Uncle Mark," she laughed.

"All right, if you prefer it," said Mark.

"On the whole I won't. I am afraid you don't look the character. Are you quite sure you can protect me?"

"I'll try to, Miss Gilbert."

"Then I won't borrow any trouble."

Maud Gilbert had carefully observed Mark, and as he was an attractive-looking boy she felt satisfied with the selection made for her.

"I am glad you didn't wear your uniform," she said. "I forgot to speak about that."

"When I heard what I was wanted for I thought it would be better to leave off the uniform," said Mark.

"That was right. Now I can pass you off as a young friend. If I meet any young lady friend, don't call me Miss Gilbert, but call me Maud. Perhaps you had better call me that at any rate."

"I will – Maud."

"That's right, and I will call you – let me see, Cousin Mark. I don't want my friends to think I had to send for an escort to a telegraph office."

When they entered Daly's Miss Gilbert met an old school friend – Louisa Morton.

"Why, Maud, are you here?" said her friend. "How delightful! And who is this young gentleman?"

"My cousin, Mark Mason."

"Indeed! Well, I congratulate you on having such a nice escort. If he were a few years older I might try to make you jealous."

Maud laughed gaily.

"Oh, you can't get him away. He is devoted to me. Aren't you, Cousin Mark?"

Mark was about to say "You bet," but it occurred to him that this would not be comme il faut, so he only said, "You are right, Maud."

"Where are your seats? I hope they are near ours."

They proved to be in the same row, but on the other side of the center aisle.

As Mark and the young lady took seats two pairs of astonished eyes noted their entrance. These belonged to Edgar and his father, who sat two rows behind. Edgar was the first to catch sight of them.

"Look, father!" he said, clutching his father's arm. "There is Mark Mason and a beautiful girl just taking their seats. What does it mean?"

"I don't know," returned Mr. Talbot. "She seems to be a fashionable young lady."

"How in the world did he get acquainted with such people? She treats him as familiarly as if he were a brother or cousin."

"It is very strange."

"Please take the opera-glass, Mark," Edgar heard Miss Gilbert say. "You know I must make you useful."

For the rest of the evening the attention of Edgar and his father was divided between the play and Miss Gilbert and Mark. For the benefit chiefly of her friend, Maud treated her young escort with the utmost familiarity, and quite misled Solon Talbot and Edgar.

When the play was over Mark carefully adjusted Miss Gilbert's wraps. As he passed through the aisle he saw for the first time Edgar and his father looking at him with astonished eyes.

"Good evening," he said with a smile. "I hope you enjoyed the play."

"Come, Mark, it is growing late," said Maud.

Mark bowed and passed on.

"Well, if that doesn't beat all!" ejaculated Edgar. "They seemed very intimate."

When Mark bade Miss Gilbert good night after ringing the bell at her home, she pressed a bank note into his hand.

"Thank you so much," she said. "Keep the change, and when I want another escort I will send for you."

By the light of the street lamp Mark inspected the bill and found it was a five.

"That will give me over three dollars for myself," he said joyfully. "So the rent is secure."

The next day about two o'clock he was in the office of a prominent banker to whom he had carried a message, when a wild-looking man with light brown hair and wearing glasses, rushed in, and exclaimed dramatically to the astonished banker, "I want a hundred thousand dollars! Give it to me at once, or I will blow your office to atoms."

He pointed significantly to a small carpet bag which he carried in his left hand.

The broker turned pale, and half rose from his chair. He was too frightened to speak, while two clerks writing in another part of the office seemed ready to faint.

CHAPTER V
MARK AS A HERO

The situation was critical. That the wild-eyed visitor was demented, there was hardly a doubt, but his madness was of a most dangerous character.

The eyes of all were fixed with terror upon the innocent-looking valise which he held in his left hand, and in the mind of all was the terrible thought, Dynamite!

"Well, will you give me the money?" demanded the crank fiercely.

"I – I don't think I have as much money in the office," stammered the pallid banker.

"That won't work," exclaimed the visitor angrily. "If you can't find it I will send you where you won't need money," and he moved his arm as if to throw the valise on the floor.

"I – I'll give you a check," faltered Luther Rockwell, the banker.

"And stop payment on it," said the crank with a cunning look. "No, that won't do."

"Give me half an hour to get the money," pleaded Rockwell desperately. "Perhaps twenty minutes will do."

"You would send for a policeman," said the intruder. "That won't do, I must have the money now. Or, if you haven't got it, bonds will answer."

Luther Rockwell looked helplessly toward the two clerks, but they were even more terrified than he. There was one to whom he did not look for help, and that was the telegraph boy, who stood but three feet from the crank, watching him sharply. For a plan of relief had come into the mind of Mark Mason, who, though he appreciated the danger, was cooler and more self-possessed than any one else in the office.

Standing just behind the crank, so that he did not attract his attention, he swiftly signaled to the clerks, who saw the signal but did not know what it meant. Mark had observed that the dangerous satchel was held loosely in the hands of the visitor whose blazing eyes were fixed upon the banker. The telegraph boy had made up his mind to take a desperate step, which depended for its success on rapid execution and unfaltering nerves.

Luther Rockwell was hesitating what reply to make to his visitor's demand when Mark, with one step forward, snatched the valise from the unsuspecting visitor and rapidly retreated in the direction of the two clerks.

"Now do your part!" he exclaimed in keen excitement.

The crank uttered a howl of rage, and turning his fierce, bloodshot eyes upon Mark dashed towards him.

The two clerks were now nerved up to action. They were not cowards, but the nature of the peril had dazed them. One was a member of an athletic club, and unusually strong.

They dashed forward and together seized the madman. Mr. Rockwell, too, sprang from his seat, and, though an old man, joined the attacking party.

"Quick!" he shouted to Mark. "Take that valise out of the office, and carry it where it will do no harm. Then come back!"

Mark needed no second bidding. He ran out of the office and down-stairs, never stopping till he reached the nearest police station. Quickly he told his story, and two policemen were despatched on a run to Mr. Rockwell's office.

They arrived none too soon. The crank appeared to have the strength of three men, and it seemed doubtful how the contest between him and the three who assailed him would terminate.

The two policemen turned the scale. They dexterously slipped handcuffs over his wrists, and at last he sank to the floor conquered. He was panting and frothing at the mouth.

Luther Rockwell fell back into his seat exhausted.

"You've had a trying time, sir!" said one of the policemen respectfully.