Mr. Massey had been attending to the overcome Hopewell Drugg. He mixed him something and forced it down his throat. Then he whispered to Frank Bowman:

"It was brandy. I can smell it on his breath. Pshaw! Hopewell's a harmless critter. Why couldn't they let him alone?"

Frank had taken up the violin. The moisture had got to it a little on the back and the young man thoughtlessly held it near the fire to dry. Hopewell's eyes opened and almost immediately he staggered to his feet, reaching for the instrument.

"Wrong! wrong!" he muttered. "Never do that. Crack the varnish. Spoil the tone."

"Hullo, old fellow!" said Mr. Massey, patting Hopewell on the shoulder.
"Guess you feel better—heh?"

"Ye—yes. Why! that you, Massey?" ejaculated the storekeeper, in surprise.

"'Twas me when I got up this mornin'," grunted the druggist.

"Why—why—I don't remember coming here to your store, Massey," said the mystified Hopewell Drugg. "I—I guess I didn't feel well."

"I guess you didn't," said the druggist, drily, eyeing him curiously.

"Was I sick? Lost consciousness? This is odd—very odd," said Hopewell.
"I believe it must have been that lemonade."

Mr. Cross Moore snorted. "Lemonade!" he ejaculated. "Suthin' b'sides tartaric acid to aid the lemons in that lemonade, Hopewell. You was drunk!"

Drugg blinked at him. "That—that's a hard sayin', Cross Moore," he observed gently.

"What lemonade was this, Hopewell?" demanded the druggist.

"I had some. Two glasses. The other musicians took beer. I always take lemonade."

"That's what did it," Frank Bowman said, aside to Janice. "Joe Bodley doped it."

"You had brandy, Hopewell. I could smell it on your breath," said
Massey. "And I know how that affects you. Remember?"

"Oh, no, Massey! You know I do not drink intoxicants," said Hopewell confidently.

"I know you are a dern fool, Hopewell—and mebbe I'm one!" declared Mr. Cross Moore, suddenly rising. Then he bolted for the door and went out without bidding anybody good night.

Massey looked after his brother committeeman with surprise. "Now!" he muttered, "what's got into him, I'd like for to be told?"

Meanwhile Hopewell was saying to Janice: "Miss Janice, how do you come here? I know Amarilla expected you. Isn't it late?"

"Mr. Drugg," said the girl steadily, "we brought you here to be treated by Mr. Massey—Mr. Bowman and I. I do not suppose you remember our getting you out of the Lake View Inn?"

"Getting me out of the Inn?" he gasped flushing.

"Yes. You did not know what you were doing. They did not want you to leave the dance, but Mr. Bowman made them let you come away with us."

"You don't mean that, Miss Janice?" said the storekeeper horrified.
"Are—are you sure? I had not been drinking intoxicants."

"Brandy, I tell ye, Hopewell!" exclaimed the druggist exasperated. "You keep away from the Inn. They're playing tricks on you down there, them fellers are. You ain't fit to run alone, anyway—and never was," he added, too low for Hopewell to hear.

"And look out for that violin, Mr. Drugg, if you prize it at all," added
Frank Bowman.

"Why do you say that?" asked Hopewell puzzled.

"I believe there was a fellow down there trying to steal it," the engineer said. "He had got it away from you and was looking inside of it. Is the name of the maker inside the violin? Is it a valuable instrument, Mr. Drugg?"

"I—I don't know," the other said slowly. "Only for its associations, I presume. It was my father's instrument and he played on it a great many years. I—I think," said Hopewell diffidently, "that it has a wonderfully mellow tone."

"Well," said Frank, "that black-haired fellow had it. And he looks like a fellow that's not to be trusted. There's more than Joe Bodley around that hotel who will bear watching, I guess."

"I will not go down to Lem Parraday's again," sighed Hopewell. "I—I felt that I should earn all the extra money possible. You see, my little girl may have to return to Boston for treatment."

"It's a mean shame!" muttered the civil engineer.

"Oh! I hope you are wrong about Lottie," Janice said quickly. "The dear little thing! She seemed very bright to-night," she added, with more cheerfulness in her tone than she really felt.

"Say, you don't want that violin stole, Hopewell," said Mr. Massey reflectively. "Enough's been stole in Polktown to-day, I should say, to last us one spell."

"Never mind," put in Frank Bowman, scornfully, looking full at the druggist. "You won't have to pay for Mr. Drugg's violin if it is stolen."

"Hum! Don't I know that?" snarled Massey. "We committeemen have our hands full with that missin' collection. Wish't we'd never voted to have the coins brought over here. Them lectures are mighty foolish things, anyway. That is scored up against young Haley, too. He wanted the lecture to come here."

"And you are foolish enough to accuse Nelson of stealing the coins," said
Bowman, in a low voice. "I should think you'd have more sense."

"Hey!" exclaimed the druggist. "Who would you accuse?"

"Not Haley, that's sure."

"Nobody but the committee, the janitor, and Haley knew anything about the coins," the druggist said earnestly. "They were delivered to me last night right here in the store by Mr. Hobart, the lecturer. He came through from Middletown a-purpose. He took the boat this morning for the Landing. Now, nobody else knew about the coins being in town——"

"Who was here with you, Mr. Massey, when the coins were delivered to your keeping?" Janice Day interposed, for she had been listening.

"Warn't nobody here," said Mr. Massey promptly.

"You were alone in the store?"

"Yes, I was," quite as positively.

"What did you do with the trays?"

"Locked 'em in my safe."

"At once?" again asked Janice.

"Say! what you tryin' to get at, young lady?" snorted the druggist. "Don't you s'pose I knew what I was about last night? I hadn't been down to Lem Parraday's."

"Some of you didn't know what you were about this morning, or the coins never would have been lost," said Frank Bowman significantly.

"That's easy enough to say," complained the committeeman. "It's easy enough to blame us——"

"And it seems to be easy for you men to blame Mr. Haley," Janice interrupted indignantly.

"Well!"

"I'd like to know," continued the girl, "if there was not somebody around here who saw Mr. Hobart bring the coins in here and leave them with you."

"What if there was?" demanded Mr. Massey with sudden asperity. "The coins were not stolen from this shop—make up your mind on that score, Miss Janice."

"But if some evilly disposed person had seen them in your possession, he might have planned to do exactly what was afterward done."

"What's that?" demanded the druggist.

"Planned to get into the schoolhouse, wait till you brought the coins there, and then steal them."

"Aw, young lady!" grunted the druggist. "That's too far-fetched. I don't want to hurt your feelin's; but young Haley was tempted, and young Haley fell. That's all there is to it."

Janice was not silenced. She said reflectively:

"We may all be mistaken. I really wish you would put your mind to it, Mr. Massey, and try to remember who was here in the evening, about the time that Mr. Hobart brought you the coin collection."

She was not looking at the druggist as she spoke; but she was looking into the mirror over the prescription desk. And she could see Massey's face reflected in that glass. She saw his countenance suddenly change. It flushed, and then paled, and he showed great confusion. But he did not say a word. She was puzzled, but said no more to him. It did not seem as though there was anything more to say regarding the robbery and Nelson Haley's connection with it.

Besides, Hopewell Drugg was gently reminding her that they must start for home.

"I'm afraid Amarilla will be anxious. It—it is dreadfully late," he suggested.

"We'll leave Mr. Massey to think it over," said Frank Bowman. "Maybe he'll come to a better conclusion regarding Nelson Haley."

"I don't care who stole the coins. We want 'em back," growled the druggist, preparing to lock them all out.

The trio separated on the corner. Hopewell was greatly depressed as he walked on with Janice Day.

"I—I hope that Amarilla will not hear of this evening's performance. I declare! I had no idea that that Bodley young man would play me such a trick. I shall have to refuse to play for any more of the dances," he said, in his hesitating, stammering way.

"You may be sure I shall not tell her," Janice said firmly.

They went into the dark store together as though they had just met on the porch. "I'm awfully glad you've both come," said 'Rill Drugg. "I was getting real scared and lonesome. Mr. Bowman gone home, Janice?"

The girl nodded. She had not much to say. The last hour had been so full of incident that she wanted to be alone and think it over. So she hurried to bid the storekeeper and his wife good night and went into the bedroom she was to share with little Lottie.

Janice lay long awake. That was to be expected. Her mind was overwrought and her young heart burdened with a multitude of troubles.

Her night spent with 'Rill had not turned out just as she expected, that was sure. From her window she could watch the front of Mrs. Beaseley's cottage and she saw that Nelson's lamp burned all night. He was wakeful, too. It made another bond between them; but it was not a bond that made Janice any more cheerful.

She returned to the Day house early on Sunday morning, and her unobservant aunt did not notice the marks the young girl's sleepless night had left upon her countenance. Aunt 'Mira was too greatly distracted just then about a new gown she, with the help of Mrs. John-Ed. Hutchins, had made and was to wear for the first time on this occasion.

"That is, if I kin ever git the pesky thing ter set straight over my hips. Do come here an' see what's the matter with it, Janice," Aunt 'Mira begged, in a great to-do over the frock. "What do you make of it?"

"It doesn't fit very smoothly—that is true," Janice said gently. "I—I am afraid, Aunt 'Mira, that it draws so because you are not drawn in just the same as you were when the dress was fitted by Mrs. John-Ed."

"My soul and body!" gasped the heavy lady, in desperation. "I knowed it!
I felt it in my bones that she'd got me pulled in too tight."

Janice finally got the good woman into proper shape to fit the new frock, rather than the new frock to fitting her, and started off with Aunt 'Mira to church, leaving Mr. Day and Marty to follow.

Janice looked hopefully for Nelson. She really believed that he would change his determination at the last moment and appear at church. But he did not. Nor did anybody see him outside the Beaseley cottage all day. It was a very unhappy Sunday for Janice.

The whole town was abuzz with excitement. There were two usually inoffensive persons "on the dissecting table," as Walky Dexter called it—Nelson and Hopewell Drugg. Much had already been said about the missing coin collection and Nelson Haley's connection with it; so the second topic of conversation rather overshadowed the schoolmaster's trouble. It was being repeated all about town that Hopewell Drugg had been taken home from the dance at the Lake View Inn "roaring drunk."

Monday morning saw Nelson put to the test. Some of the boys gathered on the corner of High Street near the teacher's lodging, whispering together and waiting for his appearance. It was said by some that Mr. Haley would not appear; that he "didn't dare show his head outside the door."

About quarter past eight that morning there were many more people on the main street of the lakeside village than were usually visible at such an hour. Especially was there a large number of women, and it was notorious that on that particular Monday more housewives were late with their weekly wash than ever before in the annals of Polktown.

"Jefers-pelters!" muttered Walky Dexter, as he urged Josephus into High Street on his first trip downtown. "What's got ev'rybody? Circus in town? If so, it must ha' slipped my mind."

"Yep," said Massey, the druggist, at his front door, and whom the expressman had hailed. "And here comes the procession."

From up the hill came a troop of boys—most of them belonging in the upper class of the school. Marty was one of them, and in their midst walked the young schoolmaster!

"I snum!" ejaculated Walky. "I guess that feller ain't got no friends—oh, no!" and he chuckled.

The druggist scowled. "Boy foolishness. That don't mean nothing."

"He, he, he! It don't, hey?" drawled Walky, chirping to Josephus to start him. "Wal—mebbe not. But if I was you, and had plate glass winders like you've got, an' no insurance on 'em, I wouldn't let that crowd of young rapscallions hear my opinion of Mr. Haley."

Indeed, Marty and his friends had gone much further than passing resolutions. Nelson was their friend and chum as well as their teacher. He coached their baseball and football teams, and was the only instructor in gymnastics they had. The streak of loyalty in the average boy is the biggest and best thing about him.

Nelson often joined the crowd on the way to the only level lot in town where games could be played; and this seemed like one of those Saturday occasions, only the boys carried their books instead of masks and bats.

Their chorus of "Hullo, Mr. Haley!" "Morning, Mr. Haley!" and the like, as he reached the corner, almost broke down the determination the young man had gathered to show a calm exterior to the Polktown inhabitants. More than a few other well-wishers took pains to bow to the schoolmaster or to speak to him. And then, there was Janice, flying by in her car on her way to Middletown to school, passing him with a cheery wave of her gloved hand and he realized that she had driven this way in the car on purpose to meet him.

Indeed, the young man came near to being quite as overwhelmed by this reception as he might have been had he met frowning or suspicious faces. But he got to the school, and the School Committee remained under cover—for the time being.

Janice, coming back from Middletown in the afternoon, stopped at the post-office and got the mail. In it was a letter which she knew must be from her father, although the outer envelope was addressed in the same precise, clerkly hand which she associated with the mysterious Juan Dicampa.

No introductory missive from the flowery Juan was inside, however; and her father's letter began as follows:

"Dear daughter:—

"I am under the necessity of putting on your young shoulders more responsibility than I think you should bear. But I find that of a sudden I am confined to an output of one letter a month, and that one to you. As I write in English, and these about me read (if they are able to read at all) nothing but Spanish, I have some chance of getting information and instructions to my partners in Ohio, by this means, and by this means only.

"First of all, I will assure you, dear child, that my health is quite, quite good. There is nothing the matter with me save that I am a 'guest of the State,' as they pompously call it, and I cannot safely work the mining property. I am not going to dig ore for the benefit of either the Federal forces or the Constitutionalists.

"I shall stay to watch the property, however, and meanwhile the Zapatist chief in power here watches me. He takes pleasure in nagging and interfering with me in every possible way; so issues this last decree limiting the number of letters to one a month.

"He would do more, but he dare not. I happen to be on friendly terms with a chief who is this fellow's superior. If the chief in charge here should harm me and my friend should feel so inclined, he might ride up here, and stand my enemy up against an adobe wall. The fellow knows it—and is aware of my friend's rather uncertain temper. That temper, my dear Janice, known to all who have ever heard of Juan Dicampa, and his abundant health, is the wall between me and a possibly sudden and very unpleasant end."

There was a great deal more to the letter, but at first Janice could not go on with it for surprise. The clerkly writer with the abundance of flowery phrases, Juan Dicampa was, then, a Mexican chieftain—perhaps a half-breed Yaqui murderer! The thought rather startled Janice. Yet she was thankful to remember how warmly the man had written of her father.

Much of what followed in her father's letter she had to transmit to the bank officials and others of his business associates in her old home town. But the important thing, it seemed all the time to Janice, was Juan Dicampa.

She thought about him a great deal during the next few days. Mostly she thought about his health, and the chances of his being shot in some battle down there in Mexico.

She began to read even more than heretofore of the Mexican situation in the daily papers. She began to look for mention of Dicampa, and tried to learn what manner of leader he was among his people.

If Juan Dicampa should be removed what, then, would happen to Broxton Day?