"Mother," who was his wife, and his junior by twenty years, produced the box of papers.

""T was like this 'ere," said Gay.

"Why, it's only a proxy," replied Harnett. "You've a perfect right to revoke it this minute if you have n't taken pay for the stock."

"I hain't," Gay answered, "'nd, what's more, I won't, nuther!"

Woods attended the annual meeting without a doubt of the result.

"I see you represent ninety-eight shares," remarked the president of the company.

"Ninety-eight!" exclaimed Woods. "I represent a hundred and one."

"Only ninety-eight, Mr. Woods. Mr. Gay has revoked the proxy he gave you yesterday. He has sold the stock to me. Here is the certificate and here is the transfer-book."

IV

ONE TO SIX

T'S bankruptcy if we don't do something right off," said Craigin. "There must be people in New York and Boston who 'd

give us job-work if they knew what we 're trying to do and how hard up we are."

"I had n't thought of that,” replied Harnett. "I've a friend in New York who can give us lots of printing and put us in the way of getting more. I'll go and see him."

He got a good contract, on condition that it should be done at a specified time. With it came half a dozen journeymen printers of a class familiar throughout the country-men who journey, working but a short time in a place, the aristocracy of trampdom, bright, intelligent, reckless, turbulent. A week passed, and there were signs of trouble. The men became sullen and insolent. Their leader, known as "Stub Short," -for the reason, probably, that he was tall,-was a skilled workman, and all day his pica had looked like pi.

"We can't send out such work as that," said Craigin.

"It's better 'n we 're paid for," replied Short, with an oath. "If you don't like it, you can lump it."

Five minutes later the six new men demanded their pay and left the office. Craigin at once wired for more help, and had no difficulty in getting it. The new type-setters, ten girls, came on an afternoon train. That evening the editor worked late, and after he had finished writing turned off the gas and sat in one of his reveries. The city clock struck one, reminding him that it was past his bedtime. As he arose to put on his overcoat he heard stealthy footsteps outside. He peeped out, and in the moonlight, just under the counting-room windows, he saw the six journeymen printers. There was a ventilator in one of the windows. He opened it noiselessly and listened, screening himself with the curtain.

"When we've smashed his old printing-presses,” Short was saying, "it'll bu'st the whole shootingmatch. They have n't got any money to buy new

ones."

They were six to one, engaged in a State-prison crime. Craigin had no fear for himself, and no compunction about killing them if necessary. He had the build of a prize-fighter, was a skilled boxer, was quick as a cat, and had kept his muscle in good condition; above all, he was on the defensive and his presence was unknown.

A hard-wood ruler lay on his desk. He seized it and once more peeped out. The men were stealthily approaching the entrance of the building, Short bringing up the rear, the quarter from which danger was apprehended. They had a skeleton key that fitted the

lock. Craigin took his position close to the door, and as the first man entered he received a blow on the head and fell without a groan. The next man was disposed of in the same way. The others started back.

"There's only one man," cried Short, with an oath. "Down him!"

There was a wild rush, four to one. In taking his position at the door Craigin had the advantage of the first attack, but exposed himself to the danger of being surrounded. It was now his object to reach the double doors opening from the counting-room to his private office, for the four would then be in front of him. He retreated, getting in one good blow with his ruler. It was the work of an instant. As he reached his new position he saw a universe of stars and felt as if he were floating through immeasurable space. Some one had struck him a heavy blow from behind. He staggered, almost fell, and the ruler dropped from his hand. A foot struck it, and it went flying through the open doors into the private office, beyond the reach of the enemy. The stars, the celestial journey, passed away, and in their place the tiger that sleeps in human nature sprang forth. Craigin fought with a cool head and a quick eye. He was hit several times, for they all were at him at once, but now and again he got in a blow that sent an enemy reeling to the floor. Three and a half to one,—one man had a broken arm,—he stood them off, punishing them worse than they punished him, until Short became furious and reckless. Like Craigin, he was a quick, powerful man and a trained athlete. At some time in his vagrant career he had been a circus tumbler, and had learned how to

do what would knock the life out of a man like a cannon-ball.

"Stand back!" he shouted, forgetting that the night police might hear him. "Stand back! I'll finish him!"

The next instant he was a wheel in air, then a projectile, shooting forward, feet foremost, straight for Craigin's abdomen. Craigin's alertness and agility saved his life. He sprang backward and to the left, barely escaping the tremendous blow. As Short recovered himself with the skill that had won plaudits in the circus ring Craigin's powerful shoulders shot forward and his right arm straightened like a flash of lightning. His knuckle-bones cracked and splintered as his fist met the terrible momentum. Short fell as an ox falls beneath a butcher's ax. While his comrades stood stupidly staring at him two policemen rushed in with revolvers drawn.

A few days later Craigin visited four of the journeymen printers at the hospital.

"I shall have to go to prison just the same," said Short, speaking painfully through a broken jaw; "but I have n't got anything against you, and I'm going to tell you all about it. You used us as well as anybody could. I would n't have tried anything of that sort if I had n't been hired to."

"Hired to?"

"I met a man near a lonely place I used to visitno matter what for. It was in the night and dark, and he knew when I would be there. He told me if I'd get up a strike and smash your printing-presses he'd pay me three thousand dollars. He gave me a thou