



Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










THE NE'ER-DO-WELL

By REX BEACH

Author of "THE SILVER HORDE" "THE SPOILERS" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.

Illustrated




TO

MY WIFE




CONTENTS

     I. VICTORY

    II. THE TRAIL DIVIDES

   III. A GAP

    IV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES

     V. A REMEDY IS PROPOSED

    VI. IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED

   VII. THE REWARD OF MERIT

  VIII. EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND

    IX. SPANISH LAW

     X. A CHANGE OF PLAN

    XI. THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. CORTLANDT

   XII. A NIGHT AT TABOGA

  XIII. CHIQUITA

   XIV. THE PATH THAT LED NOWHERE

    XV. ALIAS JEFFERSON LOCKE

   XVI. "8838"

  XVII. GARAVEL THE BANKER

 XVIII. THE SIEGE OF MARIA TORRES

   XIX. "LA TOSCA"

    XX. AN AWAKENING

   XXI. THE REST OF THE FAMILY

  XXII. A CHALLENGE AND A CONFESSION

 XXIII. A PLOT AND A SACRIFICE

  XXIV. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION

   XXV. CHECKMATE!

  XXVI. THE CRASH

 XXVII. A QUESTION

XXVIII. THE ANSWER

  XXIX. A LAST APPEAL

   XXX. DARWIN K ANTHONY




THE NE'ER-DO-WELL




I

VICTORY


It was a crisp November night. The artificial brilliance of Broadway
was rivalled by a glorious moonlit sky. The first autumn frost was in
the air, and on the side-streets long rows of taxicabs were standing,
their motors blanketed, their chauffeurs threshing their arms to rout
the cold. A few well-bundled cabbies, perched upon old-style hansoms,
were barking at the stream of hurrying pedestrians. Against a
background of lesser lights myriad points of electric signs flashed
into everchanging shapes, winking like huge, distorted eyes; fanciful
designs of liquid fire ran up and down the walls or blazed forth in
lurid colors. From the city's canons came an incessant clanging roar,
as if a great river of brass and steel were grinding its way toward the
sea.

Crowds began to issue from the theatres, and the lines of waiting
vehicles broke up, filling the streets with the whir of machinery and
the clatter of hoofs. A horde of shrill-voiced urchins pierced the
confusion, waving their papers and screaming the football scores at the
tops of their lusty lungs, while above it all rose the hoarse tones of
carriage callers, the commands of traffic officers, and the din of
street-car gongs.

In the lobby of one of the playhouses a woman paused to adjust her
wraps, and, hearing the cries of the newsboys, petulantly exclaimed:

"I'm absolutely sick of football. That performance during the third act
was enough to disgust one."

Her escort smiled. "Oh, you take it too seriously," he said. "Those
boys don't mean anything. That was merely Youth--irrepressible Youth,
on a tear. You wouldn't spoil the fun?"

"It may have been Youth," returned his companion, "but it sounded more
like the end of the world. It was a little too much!"

A bevy of shop-girls came bustling forth from a gallery exit.

"Rah! rah! rah!" they mimicked, whereupon the cry was answered by a
hundred throats as the doors belched forth the football players and
their friends. Out they came, tumbling, pushing, jostling; greeting
scowls and smiles with grins of insolent good-humor. In their hands
were decorated walking-sticks and flags, ragged and tattered as if from
long use in a heavy gale. Dignified old gentlemen dived among them in
pursuit of top-hats; hysterical matrons hustled daughters into
carriages and slammed the doors.

"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" shrilled the newsboys. "Full account of the big game!"

A youth with a ridiculous little hat