STEAM MAN, OR, THE YOUNG INVENTOR'S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST***


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   “Noname’s” Latest and Best Stories are Published in This Library.

[Illustration: FRANK READE LIBRARY]

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                          24, 1892.
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        FRANK READE, JR.,         AND HIS NEW STEAM MAN;
                                         OR, THE
                          YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.

                                       By “NONAME.”

[Illustration]

 The Subscription Price of the FRANK READE LIBRARY by the Year is $2.50:
 $1.25 per six months, post-paid. Address FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 34 and
                36 North Moore Street, New York. Box 2730.




                Frank Reade Jr., and His New Steam Man;
                                  OR,
               THE YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.


                              By “NONAME”,

 Author of Frank Reade Jr.’s Electric Cyclone; or, Thrilling Adventures
                         in No Man’s Land, etc.




                               CHAPTER I.
                             A GREAT WRONG.


Frank Reade was noted the world over as a wonderful and distinguished
inventor of marvelous machines in the line of steam and electricity. But
he had grown old and unable to knock about the world, as he had been
wont once to do.

So it happened that his son, Frank Reade, Jr., a handsome and talented
young man, succeeded his father as a great inventor, even excelling him
in variety and complexity of invention. The son speedily outstripped his
sire.

The great machine shops in Readestown were enlarged by young Frank, and
new flying machines, electric wonders, and so forth, were brought into
being.

But the elder Frank would maintain that, inasmuch as electricity at the
time was an undeveloped factor, his invention of the Steam Man was
really the most wonderful of all.

“It cannot be improved upon,” he declared, positively. “Not if steam is
used as a motive power.”

Frank, Jr. laughed quietly, and patted his father on the back.

“Dad,” he said, with an affectionate, though bantering air, “what would
you think if I should produce a most remarkable improvement upon your
Steam Man?”

“You can’t do it!” declared the senior Reade.

Frank, Jr., said no more, but smiled in a significant manner. One day
later, the doors of the secret draughting-room of design were tightly
locked and young Frank came forth only to his meals.

For three months this matter of closed doors continued. In the machine
shop department, where the parts of machinery were secretly put
together, the ring of hammers might have been heard, and a big sign was
upon the door:

No admittance!

Thus matters were when one evening Frank left his arduous duties to
spend a few hours with his wife and little boy.

But just as he was passing out of the yard, a <DW54>, short in stature
and of genial features, rushed excitedly up to him.

“Oh, Marse Frank,” cried the sable servitor, “Jes’ wait one moment!”

“Well, Pomp,” said Frank, pleasantly, “what can I do for you?”

The <DW54>, who was a faithful servant of the Reades, and had accompanied
both on their tours in foreign lands, ducked his head, with a grin, and
replied:

“Yo’ father wants yo’, Marse Frank, jes’ as quick as eber yo’ kin come!”

“My father,” exclaimed Frank, quickly. “What is it?”

“I don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout it tall, Marse Frank. He jes’ say fo’ me to
tell yo’ he want fo’ to see yo’.”

“Where is he?”

“In his library, sah.”

“All right, Pomp. Tell him I will come at once.”

The <DW54> darted away. Frank saw that the doors to the secret rooms were
locked. This was a wise precaution for hosts of cranks and demented
inventors were always hovering about the place and would quickly have
stolen the designs if they could have got at them.

Not ten minutes later Frank entered the library where his father was.

The elder Reade was pacing up and down in great excitement.

“Well, my son, you have come at last!” he cried. “I have much wanted to
see you.”

“I am at your service, father,” replied Frank. “What is it?”

“I want you to tell me what kind of a machine you have been getting up.”

“Come now, that’s not fair,” said Frank Jr. with twinkling eyes.

“Well, if it’s any kind of a machine that can travel over the prairies
tell me so,” cried the elder Reade, excitedly.

Frank, Jr., was at a loss to exactly understand what his father was
driving at. However, he replied:

“Well, I may safely say that it is. Now explain yourself.”

“I will,” replied the senior Reade. “I have a matter of great importance
to give you, Frank, my boy. If your invention is as good as my steam man
even, and does not improve upon it, it will yet perform the work which I
want it to do.”

A light broke across Frank, Jr.’s face.

“Ah!” he cried. “I see what you are driving at. You have an undertaking
for me and my new machine.”

Frank, Sr., looked steadily at Frank, Jr., and replied:

“You have hit the nail upon the head.”

“What is it?”

“First, I must tell you a story.”

“Well?”

“It would take me some time to go into the details, so I will not
attempt to do that but give you a simple statement of facts; in short,
the outline of the story.”

“All right. Let us have it.”

The senior Reade cleared his throat and continued:

“Many years ago when I was traveling in Australia I was set upon by
bushmen and would have been killed but for the sudden arrival upon the
scene of a countryman of mine, a man of about my own age and as plucky
as a lion.

“His name was Jim Travers, and I had known him in New York as the son of
a wealthy family. He was of a roving temperament, however, and this is
what had brought him to Australia.

“Well, Travers saved my life. He beat off my assailants, and nursing my
wounds brought me back to life.

“I have felt ever since that I owed