The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey

Hugh looked at the big thermometer alongside the Juggins' front door as he came out, and the mercury was still falling steadily.

"It's certainly a whole lot sharper than it was early this morning,

Thad. Feels to me as if the first cold wave of the winter had struck

Scranton."

"The ice on our flooded baseball field, and that out at Hobson's mill-pond ought to be in great shape after a hard freeze to-night, Hugh."

"We're in luck this time, chum Thad. Look at that sky, will you? Never a cloud in sight, and the sun going down yellow. Deacon Winslow, our reliable old weather prophet blacksmith, who always keeps a goose-bone hanging up in his smithy, to tell what sort of a winter we're going to get, says such a sign stands for cold and clear to-morrow after that kind of a sunset. Red means warmer, you know."

"I only hope it keeps on for forty-eight hours more, that's all I can say, Hugh. This being Thursday, it would fetch us to Saturday. I understand they're not meaning to let a single pair of steel runners on the baseball park, to mark the smooth surface of the new ice, until Saturday morning."

"Which will be a fine thing for our hockey try-out with the scratch

Seven, eh, Thad?"

"We want to test our team play before going up against the boys of Keyport High, that's a fact; and Scranton can put up a hard fighting bunch of irregulars. There are some mighty clever hockey players in and out of the high school, who are not on our Seven. I guess there ought to be a pretty lively game on Saturday; and there will be if several fellows I could mention line up against us."

The two boys who had just left the home of a schoolmate named Horatio Juggins were great friends. Although Hugh Morgan had seemed to jump into popular leadership among the boys of Scranton, soon after his folks came to reside in the town, he and Thad Stevens had become almost inseparables.

Indeed, some of the fellows often regarded them as "Damon and Pythias," or on occasions it might be "David and Jonathan." Both were of an athletic turn, and took prominent parts in all baseball games, and other strenuous outdoor sports indulged in by the boys of Scranton High; a record of which will be found in the several preceding books of this series, to which the new reader is referred, if he feels any curiosity concerning the earlier doings of this lively bunch.

Hugh was cool and calm in times when his chum would show visible signs of great excitement. He had drilled himself to control his temper under provocation, until he felt master of himself.

It was the 10th of January, and thus far the opportunities for skating that had come to the young people of that section of country where Scranton was located, had been almost nil; which would account for the enthusiasm of the lads when Thad announced how rapidly the thermometer was giving promise of a severe cold spell.

Scranton had two keen rivals for athletic honors. Allandale and Belleville High fellows had given them a hard run of it before they carried off the championship pennant of the county in baseball the preceding summer.

Then, in the late fall, there had been a wonderfully successful athletic tournament, inaugurated to celebrate the enclosing of the grounds outside Scranton with a high board-fence, and the building of a splendid grandstand, as well as rooms where the athletic participants in sports might dress in comfort.

With the coming of winter the big field thus enclosed had been properly flooded, so that it might afford a vast amount of healthy recreation to all Scranton boys and girls who loved to skate.

Hitherto they had been compelled to trudge all the way out to Hobson's mill-pond, and back, which was a long enough journey to keep many from ever thinking of indulging in what is, perhaps, the most cherished winter sport among youthful Americans.

The two friends had been asked around by the Juggins boy to inspect a wonderful assortment of treasure trove that an old and peculiar uncle, with a fad for collecting curios of every description, and who was at present out in India, had sent to his young nephew and namesake.

These consisted of scores of most interesting objects, besides several thousand rare postage stamps. Taken in all it was the greatest collection of stamps any of them had ever heard of. And the other things proved of such absorbing interest that Hugh and Thad had lingered until the afternoon was done, with supper not so far away but that they must hurry home.

Thad, apparently, had something on his mind which he wished to get rid of, judging from the way in which he several times looked queerly at his chum. Finally, as if determined to speak up, he started, half apologetically:

"Hugh, excuse me if I'm butting in where I have no business," he said; "but when I saw you talking so long with that town bully, Nick Lang, this afternoon, after we got out of school, I didn't know what to think. Was he threatening you about anything, Hugh? After that fine dressing-down you gave Nick last summer, when he forced you to fight him while we were out at that barn dance, I notice he keeps fairly mum when you're around."

Hugh chuckled, as though the recollection might not be wholly displeasing; though, truth to tell, that was the only fight he had been in since coming to Scranton. Even it would not have taken place only that he could not stand by and see the big bully thrash most cruelly a weaker boy than himself.

"Oh! no, you're away off in your guess, Thad," he replied immediately. "Fact is, instead of threats, Nick was asking a favor of me, for once in his life."

"You don't say!" ejaculated Thad. "Well, now you've got me excited there's nothing left but to tell me what sort of a favor Nick would want of you, Hugh."

"It seems that for a long time he's been admiring those old hockey skates of mine," continued the other. "In fact, they've grown on Nick so that he even condescended to ask me to sell them to him for a dollar, which he said he'd earned by doing odd jobs, just in order to buy my old skates. He chanced to hear me say once that my mother had promised to get me the best silver-plated hockey skates on the market, for my next birthday, which is now only a few days off. That's all there was to it, Thad."

"Well," commented Thad, "we all know that Nick is a boss skater, even on the old runners he sports, and which mebbe his dad used before him, they're that ancient. He can hold his own with the next one whenever there's any ice worth using. And as to hockey, why, if Nick would only play fair, which he never will, it seems because his nature must be warped and crooked, he could have a leading place on our Seven. As it is, the boys refused to stand for him in any game, and so he had to herd with the scratch players. Even then Mr. Leonard, our efficient coach and trainer, has to call him down good and hard for cheating, or playing off-side purposely. It's anything to win, with Nick."

"You're painting Nick pretty true to life, Thad," agreed Hugh; "though I'm sorry it's so, I've got a hunch that chap, if he only could be reconstructed in some way or other, might be a shining mark in many of our athletic games."

"Oh! that's hopeless, Hugh, I tell you. The leopard can't change its spots; and Nick Lang was born to be just the tricky bully he's always shown himself."

Hugh shook his head, as though not quite agreeing with his chum.

"Time alone will tell, Thad. There might come a sudden revolution in

Nick's way of seeing things. I've heard of boys who were said to be

the worst in the town taking a turn, and forging up to the head.

It's improbable, I admit, but not impossible."

"Oh! he's bad all the way through, believe me, Hugh. But did you sell the skates, as he wanted you to do?"

"No, I told him I didn't care to," Hugh replied. "I was tempted to agree when he looked so bitterly disappointed; then an ugly scowl came over his face, and he broke away and left me; so that opportunity was lost. Besides, it's best not to be too sure I'm going to get those silver-plated skates after all, though Mom is looking pretty mysterious these days; and some sort of package came to her by express from New York the other day. She hurried it away before I could even see the name printed on the wrapper."

"Perhaps," said Thad a bit wistfully, "you might bequeath me your old skates in case you do get new ones. Mine are not half as good for hockey. I don't blame Nick for envying you their possession; but then it hasn't been so much what you had on your feet that has made you the swift hockey player you are, but coolness of judgment, ability to anticipate the moves of the enemy, and a clever stroke that can send the puck skimming over the ice like fury."

"Here, that'll do for you, Thad. No bouquets needed, thank you, all the same. According to my notion there are several fellows in Scranton my equals at hockey, and perhaps my superiors. Nick Lang, for instance, if only he had skates he could depend on, and which wouldn't threaten to trip him up in the midst of an exciting scrimmage."

"But, see here, Hugh, you were speaking just now about a chap built like Nick turning over a new leaf, and making himself respected in the community in spite of the bad name he's always had. Honestly now, do you really believe that's possible? Is there such a thing as the regeneration of a boy who's been born bad, and always taken delight in doing every sort of mean thing on the calendar? I can't believe it."

Hugh Morgan turned and gave his chum a serious look.

"I've got a good mind to tell you something that's been on my mind lately," he said.

On hearing his chum say that, Thad gripped Hugh's arm.

"Then get busy, Hugh," he hastened to remark. "When you start cogitating over things there's always something interesting on foot. What is it this time?"

"Oh! just a little speculation I've been indulging in, Thad, and on the very subject we were talking about-whether a really bad man, or boy, for that matter, can ever turn right-about-face, and redeem himself. You say it's impossible; I think otherwise."

"Tell me a single instance, then, Hugh."

"Just what I'm meaning to do," came the ready response, "but it's in romance, not history; though there are just as strong instances that can be proven. I've heard my father mention some of them long ago. But it happens, Thad, that I've been reading over, for the third time, a book we once enjoyed together immensely. We got a splendid set of Victor Hugo's works lately at our house, you remember."

"Oh!" exclaimed Thad, "you're referring to his Les Miserables, I guess. And now I remember how you said at the time we read it together that the scene where that good priest forgave the rascally Jean Valjean for stealing his silver candlesticks and spoons, after he had been so kind to him made a great impression on your mind. But, see here, Hugh, are you comparing that sneak Nick Lang to Jean Valjean, the ex-convict?"

"Yes, in a way," the other replied. "The man who had been released from the galleys, after he had served his term for stealing a loaf of bread was despised by society, which shut the door in his face. He was like a wild beast, you remember, and hated everyone. Well, by degrees, Nick is finding himself in just about the same position. Everybody looks on him as being thoroughly bad; and so he tells himself that since he's got the name he might as well have the game."

"I suppose that's about the way it goes," Thad admitted.

"There's no doubt of it," Hugh told him. "Several times I remember we had an idea Nick meant to reform; but he went back to his old ways suddenly. I think people must have nagged him, and made him feel ugly. But I've been wondering, Thad, what if Nick could have a revelation about like the one that came to Jean Valjean at the time that splendid old priest, looking straight at the thief when the officers dragged him back with those silver candlesticks and spoons hidden under his dirty blouse, told them the men had committed no wrong, because he, the priest, had given the silver to him; which we know he had done in his mind, after discovering how he had been robbed."

Thad shook his head in a dogged fashion, as though by no means convinced.

"I reckon you'd be just the one to try that crazy scheme, Hugh, if ever the chance came to you; but mark me when I say it'd all be wasted on Nick."

"But why should you be so sure of that?" asked the other. "The ex-convict was pictured as the lowest of human animals. Hugo painted him as hating every living being, because of his own wrongs; and believing that there was no such thing as honor and justice among mankind. It was done to make his change of heart seem all the more remarkable; to prove that a fellow can never sink so low but that there may be a chance for him to climb up again, if only he makes up his mind."

Thad laughed then, a little skeptically still, it must be confessed.

"Oh! that sounds all very fine, in a story, Hugh, but it'd never work out in real life. According to my mind that Nick Lang will go along to the end of the book as a bad egg. He'll fetch up in the penitentiary, or reform school, some of these fine days. I've heard Chief Wambold has declared that the next time he has anything connected with breaking the law on Nick he expects to take him before the Squire, and have him railroaded to the Reformatory; and he means it, too."

"Well, you can hardly blame the Chief," agreed Hugh, "because Nick and his pals, Leon Disney and Tip Slavin, have certainly made life hard for the police force of Scranton for years back. Brush fires have been started maliciously, just to see the fire-laddies run with the machine and create a little excitement; orchards have been robbed time and again; and, in fact, dozens of pranks more or less serious been played night after night, all of which mischief is laid at the door of Nick Lang, even if much of it can't be actually traced there."

"Of course, what you say is the exact truth, Hugh."

"Give dog Tray a bad name, and he gets it right and left," chuckled Hugh. "I've had an idea that once in a while some of the more respected fellows in town may have broken loose, and gone on night expeditions. They felt pretty safe in doing it, because every citizen would believe Nick was the guilty one. But, in spite of your thinking my idea impossible, I'd be tempted to try it out, if ever I ran across the chance. It'd settle a thing I've worried over more than a little."

No more was said on that subject, though afterwards Thad had it brought to his attention again, and in a peculiar way at that.

The two boys separated a little further on, each heading homeward.

On the following morning it was found that their predictions concerning the weather had been amply verified. The mercury had dropped away down in the tube of the thermometer, and every youngster had a happy look on his or her face at school, as though the prospect for skating brought almost universal satisfaction.

Thad, with several others, had gone out to Hobson's mill-pond to try the new ice after high school had dismissed for the week-end. Hugh wanted to accompany them very much, but he had promised his mother to spend a couple of hours that afternoon in mending something, which had gone for a long time. And once his word was given Hugh never broke it, no matter how alluring the prospect of sport might be abroad.

It was about half-past three in the afternoon.

Hugh sat in his den amidst his prized possessions. He was working on his lessons so as to get them out of the way, as there was some sort of affair scheduled for that evening, which he meant to attend; and he would be too tired after skating all day on Saturday to study any that night, as he well knew.

Several times he glanced over to where his carefully polished and well-sharpened skates, strapped together, lay on a side table. Each look caused him to shrug his shoulders a bit. He could easily imagine he heard the delightful clang of steel runners cutting into that smooth sheet of new ice out at the mill pond; and the figures of the happy skaters would pass before his eyes. Yes, probably Sue Barnes would be there, too, with her chums, Ivy Middleton and Peggy Noland, wondering, it might be, how he, Hugh, could deny himself such a glorious opportunity for the first real good skate of the season.

Then Hugh would heave a little sigh, and apply himself harder than ever to his task. When he had an unpleasant thing to do he never allowed temptation to swerve him. And, after all, it was pretty snug and comfortable there in his den, Hugh told himself; besides, that was a long walk home for a tired fellow to take, even in good company.

Then he heard his mother speaking to someone who must have rung the doorbell.

"Go up to the top of the stairs, and turn to the right. You will find Hugh in his den, I believe. Hugh, are you there? Well, here's a visitor to see you."

Supposing, of course, that it must be one of his close friends, who for some reason had not gone off skating, and wished to see him about some matter of importance, Hugh, after answering his mother, had gone on skimming the subject on which his mind just then happened to be set.

He heard the door open, and close softly. Then someone gave a gruff cough. Hugh looked around and received quite a surprise.

Instead of Thad Stevens, Owen Dugdale, Horatio Juggins, "Just"

Smith, or Julius Hobson he saw-Nick Lang!

"Oh, hello, Nick!" he commenced to say, a little restrained in his welcome; for, of course, he could give a guess that the other had come again to try and buy his skates, which Hugh was not much in favor of selling.

He shoved a chair forward, determined not to be uncivil at any rate. After that talk with Thad about this fellow it can be understood that Hugh was still bent on studying Nick, with the idea of deciding whether he did actually have a grain of decency in his make-up, such as could be used as a foundation on which to build a new structure.

The outlook was far from promising. Indeed, he could not remember ever seeing Nick look more antagonistic than just then, even though he tried to appear friendly.

"But then," Hugh was telling himself, "I reckon now Jean Valjean was about as fierce looking a human wild beast as that good old priest had ever seen at the time he invited the ex-convict into his snug house, and horrified his sister by asking him to sit at table with them, and spend the night there under his hospitable roof."

"You wanted to see me about something, did you, Nick?" he asked the other.

Nick had dropped down on the chair. His furtive gaze went around the room as if it aroused his curiosity, for this was really the first occasion when he had ever graced Hugh's den with his company.

When his eyes alighted on the coveted skates Nick's face took on an expressive grin. Then he turned toward Hugh, to say, almost whiningly:

"Sure thing, Hugh. I thought mebbe I'd coax you to let me have the skates, if I told you I'd managed to get another half dollar by selling a pair of my pigeons. Here's a dollar and a half; take it, and gimme the runners, won't you?"

His manner was intended to be ingratiating, but evidently Nick was so accustomed to bullying everyone with whom he came in contact that it was next to impossible for him to change his abusive ways. Hugh felt less inclined than ever to accommodate him. Under other and more favorable conditions he might have been tempted to promise Nick to hand him over the skates, for nothing, after he had actually received the expected new ones.

"I'm sorry to refuse you again, Nick," Hugh said coldly; "but at present I have no other skates, and, as I expect to take part in a hockey match with the scratch Seven to-morrow, I'll need my runners."

"But there's nothing to hinder you selling me the same, say next week, that I can see; unless mebbe you're just holdin' out on account of an old grudge against me. How about that, Hugh?"

Hugh was still unconvinced.

"Just now I'm not in a humor to sell the skates, Nick," he said. "If I change my mind, I'll let you know about it. That's final. And when I dispose of my skates it's my intention to give them away, not sell them."

He turned to do something at the desk where he was sitting. Meanwhile, Nick had shuffled away, as though meaning to leave the room. When Hugh looked up he was half-way through the door, and turning to say with a sneer:

"I ain't going to forget this on you, Hugh Morgan, believe me. I thought I'd give you a chanct to smooth over the rough places between us; but I see you don't want anything to do with a feller who's got the reputation they give me. All right, keep your old skates then!"

With that he hurried down the stairs. And a minute afterwards Hugh, happening to glance over to the table at the side of the room, made a startling discovery. The skates had disappeared!

"Why, he cribbed them after all!" Hugh exclaimed, as he jumped to his feet, and hurried over to the table, hardly able to believe his own eyes.

Something caught his attention. A dirty dollar bill and a fifty cent silver piece lay in place of the skates. Then Nick had not exactly stolen Hugh's property, but imagined that this forced sale might keep him within the law.

Hugh at first flush felt indignant. He gave the money an angry look, as though scorning it, despite the hard work Nick may have done and sacrifices also made in order to build up that small amount.

"Why, the contemptible scamp, I'll have to set Chief Wambold after him, and recover my skates!" he said, warmly for him. "Serve him right, too, if this is the last straw on the camel's back, to send him to the House of Refuge for a spell. He is a born thief, I do believe, and ought to be treated just like one."

Hugh, aroused by the sense of injustice, and a desire to turn the tables on the slippery Nick, even stepped forward to snatch up his cap, with the full intention of hurrying out to see if he could overtake the thief; and, if not, continuing on until he came to the office of the police force. Then he stopped short with a gasp.

He had suddenly remembered something. Into his mind rushed the details of a certain recent conversation in which he had indulged with his closest chum, Thad Stevens. Again he saw the picture of that good priest of the story, looking so benignly upon the wretched Jean Valjean, brought into his presence with the valuable silver candlesticks and spoons found in his possession, which he kept insisting his late host had presented him with, however preposterous the claim seemed.

"Why, this is very nearly like that case, I declare!" ejaculated Hugh, almost overcome by the wonderful similarity, which seemed the more amazing because of the resolution he told Thad he had taken.

He dropped back into his seat, with the money still gripped in his hand. He stared hard at it. In imagination he could see Nick, who never liked hard work any too well, they said, busying himself like a beaver, putting in coal for some neighbor, perhaps; or cleaning a walk off for a dime. He must have done considerable work to earn that first dollar.

"Then after that," Hugh was saying to himself, "he sold a pair of his pet pigeons, and I reckon he thinks a heap of them, from all I've heard said. Yes, Nick must have wanted my old skates worse than he ever did anything in all his life. And when I refused to sell them to him he just thought he'd do the trading by himself. It's a queer way of doing business, and one the law wouldn't recognize; but, after all, it was an upward step for Nick Lang, when he could have taken the skates, and kept the cash as well. This certainly beats the Dutch! What ought I to do about it, I wonder? Of course, if I told the whole thing to mother, I suppose she'd let me have the new skates ahead of time; or I could borrow Kenneth Kinkaid's, because, after breaking his leg that way in the running race he says he isn't to be allowed to skate a bit this winter. But ought I let the scamp keep my skates?"

He mused over it for several minutes, as if undecided. Then the sound of voices outside caught his attention. One seemed to be gruff and official, another whining.

Hugh jumped up and stepped to a window. He could see down the street on which the Morgan home stood. Three persons were in sight, and hurrying along toward the house. One of these he recognized as his chum, Thad, who must have returned from Hobson's mill-pond earlier than he had expected. Another was the tall, attenuated Chief Wambold; and the party whom he was gripping by the arm-yes, it was none other than Hugh's late visitor, Nick Lang!

"Oh, they've caught him, it seems, just like those awful police did poor, wicked Jean Valjean," Hugh muttered, thrilled by the sight; "and right now they're fetching Nick back here, to ask me if he wasn't lying when he said I'd sold or given him my skates!"

He realized that, undoubtedly, by some strange freak of fortune Thad must have seen the other gloating over his prize; and recognizing the skates, for they were well-known to him, he had beckoned to the policeman who happened to be near by, with the result that Nick was nabbed before he realized his peril.

Hugh had to decide quickly as to what he should do, for they were coming in through the gate even now. Once again did the wonderful story he had been reading flash before his mind.

"I must try it out!" he exclaimed suddenly, gripped by the amazing coincidence between this case and that so aptly described by Hugo. "I said I would if ever I had a chance. It worked miracles in the story; perhaps it may in real life, Anyway, it's going to be worth while, and give me a heap of enjoyment watching the result. So here and now I say that I've sold my skates to Nick, and that they really belong to him at this minute. But I reckon he'll be scared pretty badly when he faces me again, expecting the worst."

Thad knew how to get in by the side door that opened on the back stairs; so he did not waste any time in ringing the bell. Now Hugh could hear heavy footsteps. They were coming, and the great test was about to be made.

The door opened to admit, first of all, Thad, his face filled with burning indignation, and his eyes sparkling with excitement. Close on his heels the others also pushed into the room on the second floor, transformed into a genuine boy's den by pictures of healthy sport on the walls, besides college burgees, fishing tackle, a bass of three pounds that had been beautifully stuffed by Hugh himself to commemorate a glorious day's sport; and dozens of other things dear to the heart of a youth who loved the Great Outdoors as much as he did.

Chief Wambold looked triumphant and grim. Nick fairly writhed in that iron clutch, and his face had assumed a sickly sallow color; while his eyes reminded Hugh of those of a hunted wild animal at bay, fear and defiance struggling for the mastery.

"Stand there, you cub!" snarled the police officer, as he gave Nick a whirl into the room, closing the door at the same time, and planting his six-foot-five figure against it, to prevent such a thing as escape.

It was quite a tableau. Hugh believed he would never forget it as long as he lived. But Thad, it appeared, was the first to speak.

"Hugh, this skunk has gone and beat you after all!" he cried, pointing a scornful finger at the glowering Nick, who was eyeing Hugh hungrily, as if trying to decide whether or not the other would tell Chief Wambold to lock him up as a thief. "I chanced to see him pull something out that he had been hiding under his coat, and recognized your nickel-mounted skates. So I beckoned to Chief Wambold, and told him about it; he made Nick come back here to face you, and confess to the theft."

Nick growled something half under his breath, that sounded like:

"Didn't steal 'em, I tell you; I bought the skates fair and square from Hugh here. You're all down on me, and won't listen to a thing I say; that's the worst of it."

The tall head of the Scranton police force held up something he had been carrying all the while.

"Here's the skates he had, Hugh," he went on to say. "Thad tells me they are your property. He even showed me your initials scratched on each skate. Take a good look at the same, and let me know about it, will you, before I lug this sneak off to the lock-up. I reckon he's headed for the Reform School this time, sure!"

At that Nick grew even more sallow than before, if such a thing were possible; and the fear in his eyes became almost pitiable.

Hugh, meaning to make a straight job of his idea, calmly looked the skates over. He knew full well how Nick was watching his every action, trying to hug just a glimmer of hope to his heart that, perhaps, Hugh might be merciful, and let him off, as the skates were now once again in his possession. The shadow of the Reformatory loomed up dreadfully close to Nick Lang just then, darker than he had ever before imagined it could look. It terrified him, too, and caused him to shiver as though someone had dashed a bucket of ice-cold water over him unexpectedly.

"Yes, I recognize these skates very well, Chief," Hugh told the waiting officer.

"And do they belong to you, Hugh?" continued the officer, with a stern look at the cringing culprit near by, who weakly leaned against the table for support after his recent rough handling.

"They were my property until just ten minutes, more or less, ago, Chief," said Hugh, deliberately fixing Nick with his eye, so as to impress things on him in a way he could never forget. "Then I had an offer from Nick here to buy them. At first I was averse to letting him have them, but I changed my mind. These skates belong to Nick, Chief. You must set him free, and not hold this against him. He's going to wipe the slate clean this time and astonish folks here in Scranton by showing them what a fellow of his varied talents can do, once he sets out to go straight. And, for one, I wish him the best of success from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoy your skates, Nick."

He held out his hand, and the astounded Nick mechanically allowed Hugh to squeeze his digits. But not one word could he say, simply stared at Hugh as though he had difficulty in understanding such nobility of soul; then, taking the skates, he went from the room. They could hear the clatter of his heels as he hurried down the stairs, as though afraid Hugh might yet repent and send the officer after him.

Of course, Chief Wambold departed, shrugging his shoulders as though still more than half convinced there had been something crooked about Nick's suspicious actions.

Of course Thad had to be told the whole amazing story. He shook his head at the conclusion, and went on record as being a doubter by saying:

"I wish you success in your wonderful experiment, Hugh, I sure do; but all the same I don't believe for a minute the leopard is going to change its spots, or that Nick Lang, the worst boy in Scranton, can ever reform."

Hugh would say nothing further about it, only, of course, he made Thad promise to keep everything secret until he gave permission to speak. If Nick made good this would never happen.

That night Hugh had a jolly time, and it was fairly late when he crept into bed. As he lay there, instead of going to sleep immediately, he looked out of the window toward the west, where a bright star hung above the horizon. It seemed like a magnet to Hugh, who lay there and watched for its setting, all the while allowing his thoughts to roam back to the remarkable happening of that afternoon.

"It's a toss-up, just as Thad says, whether anything worth while will come of my experiment," he told himself; "but, anyhow, I've given Nick something to think over. And if he makes the first advances toward me I'm bound to meet him half-way. I only hope it turns out like the story of Jean Valjean did. But there goes my Star of Hope down behind the horizon; and now I'd better be getting some sleep myself. All the same I'm glad I did it!"

And doubtless he slept all the more soundly because of the noble impulse that had impelled him to save Nick Lang from the Reform School.