Tom Slade | Page 5

cautiously, sidled up to the house
door, and took his belated way upstairs.
Tom placed his pail on the lower step of the stair leading up to the floor
above his own, but did not enter the room whence emanated the stern
voice of John Temple and the lying excuses of his father. He went
down and out on the door step and sat on the railing, gazing at the
chauffeur with an exasperating look of triumph.
"I wouldn' be no lousy Cho-fure," he began.
The chauffeur (who received twenty-five dollars a week) did not see
the force of this remark.
"Runnin' over kids all de time-you lie, yer did too!"
The chauffeur looked straight ahead and uttered not a word.
"Yer'd be in jail if 'twuzn't fer old John paying graft ter the cops!"
The chauffeur, who knew his place, made never a sign.
"Yer stinkin' thief! Yer don't do a thing but cop de car fer joy-rides--
didn' yer?"
At this the chauffeur stirred slightly.
"Yes, yer will!" yelled Tom, jumping down from the railing.

He had just picked up a stone, when the portly form of John Temple
emerged from the door behind him.
"Put down that stone, sir, or I'll lock you up!" said he with the air of
one who is accustomed to being obeyed.
"G-wan, he called me a liar!" shouted Tom.
"Well, that's just what you are," said John Temple, "and if certain
people of this town spent less for canvas uniforms to put on their boys
to make tramps out of them, we should be able, perhaps, to build an
addition to the jail."
"Ya-ah, an' you'd be de first one to go into it!" Tom yelled, as Temple
reached the step of his car.
"What's that?" said Temple, turning suddenly.
"That's what!" shouted Tom, letting fly the stone. It went
straight to its mark, removing "old" John's spring hat as effectually as a
gust of wind, and leaving it embedded in the mud below the car.
[Illustration: "CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT THEY'RE A-DOIN?"
ROARED HIS FATHER.]
CHAPTER III
IN JAIL AND OUT AGAIN

That night, when Tom Slade, all unaware of the tragedy which
threatened his young life, shuffled into Billy's garage, he announced to
his followers a plan which showed his master mind as leader of the
gang. "Hey," said he, "I heard Sissy Bennett's mother say she's goin' ter
have a s'prise party fer him Friday night, 'n' d'yer know wot I'm goin'
ter do?"
"Tell him and spoil it fer him?" ventured Joe Flynn.

"Na-a-h!"
"Tick-tack?" asked Slush Ryder.
"Na-ah, tick-tacks is out o' date,"
"Cord ter trip 'em up?"
"Guess agin, guess agin," said Tom, exultantly.
But as no one ventured any further guesses, he announced his plan
forthwith.
"Don't say a word-don't say a word," he ejaculated. "I swiped two o'
thim quarantine signs offen two doors, 'n' I'm gon'er tack one up on
Sissy's door Friday night! Can yer beat it?"
None of them could beat it, for it was an inspiration. To turn away
Master Connover's young guests by this simple but effectual device
was worthy of the leadership qualities of Tom Slade. Having thus
advertised the possibilities of the signs he took occasion to announce,
"I got anoder one, an' I'll sell it fer a dime." But even though he marked
it down to a dime, none would buy, so he announced his intention of
raffling it off.
Before the momentous evening of Connover's party arrived, however,
something else happened which had a curious and indirect effect upon
the carrying out of Tom's plan.
On Wednesday afternoon three men came down Barrel Alley armed
with a paper for Bill Slade. It was full of "whereases" and "now,
therefores" and other things which Bill did not comprehend, but he
understood well enough the meaning of their errand.
The stone which Tom had thrown at John Temple had rebounded with
terrific force!
One man would have been enough, goodness knows, to do the job in

hand, for there were only six or seven pieces of furniture. They got in
each other's way a good deal and spat tobacco juice, while poor
helpless, inefficient Bill Slade stood by watching them.
From various windows and doors the neighbors watched them too, and
some congratulated themselves that their own rents were paid, while
others wondered what would become of poor Tom now.
This was the scene which greeted Tom as he came down Barrel Alley
from school.
"Wot are they doin'?" he asked.
"Can't you see wot they're a-doin'?" roared his father. "'Tain't them
that's doin' it neither, it's you--you done it!! It's you took
the roof from over my head, you and old John Temple!" Advancing
menacingly, he poured forth a torrent of abuse at his wretched son.
"The