Mark Manning's Mission

"Lyman admits knowledge of boy, and offers to restore him for five thousand dollars."

"I will endeavor to thwart Mr. Lyman Taylor," said Mark to himself. "He is a greater rascal than I thought."

Mark paid his bill and took the next train for Chicago. He arrived late, and registered at the Fremont House, where he prepared himself for the difficult work that lay before him by taking a good night's rest. In the morning he awoke hopeful and determined, and after breakfast went out to walk. He had no clue to the where-abouts of Lyman, but thought it possible he might meet him as he had done before in the streets.

He walked about for two hours, keeping his eyes wide open, but though he scanned many hundreds of faces, that of Lyman Taylor was not among them. Yet his walk was to be more successful than he anticipated.

Little Jack still continued his street trade of selling matches. Peggy was not willing to give up the small revenue she obtained from the boy's sales. Sometimes, also, a compassionate passer-by would bestow a dime or nickel on the boy, pitying him for his thin face and sad expression. Sometimes, if Tim were not by, he would buy a cheap lunch, for the scanty rations which he received from Peggy, left him in a chronic state of hunger.

It was fortunate that the poor boy indulged himself thus, or his feeble strength would hardly have held out against hunger and hard work combined.

Unwittingly Jack had made an active enemy in Tim Roach. His refusal to treat, Tim persuaded himself, was very mean, and his indignation was increased by the ill-success of his attempt to secure pay for the information given to Peggy. He was anxious to be revenged upon Jack, and was only waiting for an opportunity.

Malice generally finds its opportunity after awhile. One day Jack set down his basket of matches a moment while he ran into a shop to change a twenty-five cent piece. Tim was close at hand, and slyly secured the basket, and fled swiftly through a narrow passage-way with his booty. He had not only secured a stock of merchandise, but he had got Jack into trouble.

When Jack came out and found his basket gone he was in dismay.

"Who took my basket?" he inquired of an applewoman, who kept a stand close by.

"There was a bye here just now—bigger than you. He must have run off wid it when my back was turned away."

"Where did he go?" asked Jack, anxiously.

"I didn't mind."

"What was he like?"

"Shure I've seed him here afore wid you. You called him Tim."

"It was Tim Roach!" exclaimed Jack. "He's a mean boy. He took it to get me into trouble."

"Shure he looks like a thafe."

The tears started to Jack's eyes.

"I don't know what to do," he said, piteously. "I am afraid Peggy will beat me when I get home."

"Who is Peggy?" asked a new voice.

Jack looked towards the speaker. He saw a pleasant-faced boy, apparently about sixteen.

"She's the woman I live with," answered Jack.

"What will she beat you for?" asked Mark, for it was he. He had just come up, and hadn't heard of Jack's misfortune, but his heart was stirred to sympathy, by the sadness visible upon the little boy's face.

"For losing my matches," and thereupon Jack told his story to his new acquaintance.

"How much were the matches worth?" asked Mark.

"There were fourteen boxes. They cost me three cents a piece. Then there was the basket. That cost a quarter."

"Do you know where to buy more?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take this dollar bill, and get a new supply."

Jack's little face glowed with gratitude.

"Oh, how kind you are!" he said.

"Do you generally stand here?" asked Mark.

"Yes, sir."

"Does this Peggy send you out every day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is she related to you?"

"I thought she was my aunt," answered the match boy, "but last evening a gentleman called on Peggy, I heard them talking when they thought I was asleep," Jack continued in a lower tone. "I heard the gentleman say I had a grandfather living at the East, and that he would pay a good sum to get hold of me. I wish he would, for Peggy doesn't give me enough to eat, and sometimes she beats me."

"Tell me about this gentleman," said Mark in excitement. "Is he tall?"

"Yes, sir."

"With black hair and whiskers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know his name?"

"No, sir; but there he is now!"

Mark followed the direction of the boy's finger, and he recognized, though his head was turned, the familiar form of Lyman Taylor on the opposite side of the street.

CHAPTER XXX.

MARK MAKES ARRANGEMENTS WITH JACK

Mark's excitement was at fever heat. In the most wonderful manner he had succeeded almost without an effort. He could not doubt that this boy was the very one of whom he was in search.

He was apprehensive that Lyman would turn, and on recognizing him penetrate his design and arrange to defeat it. But fortunately the object of his dread appeared to have other business in hand and kept on his way, never turning back.

"How old are you?" he asked, thinking it best to make assurance doubly sure.

"Peggy says I'm goin' on eight," answered the match boy.