The Rover Boys in New York; Or, Saving Their Father's Honor

  Produced by Jim Weiler

  The Rover Boys In New York

  or

  Saving Their Father's Honor

  by Arthur M. Winfield

  INTRODUCTION

  My Dear Boys: This volume is a complete story in itself, but forms theseventeenth in a line issued under the general title of "The RoverBoys Series for Young Americans."

  As I have mentioned several times, in other volumes, this line wasstarted with the publication of "The Rover Boys at School," "On theOcean" and "In the Jungle." The cordial reception afforded the storiescalled for the publication of the next volume, "The Rover Boys OutWest," and then, year after year, by the issuing of "On the GreatLakes," "In Camp," "On Land and Sea," "On the River," "On the Plains,""In Southern Waters," "On the Farm," "On Treasure Isle," "At College,""Down East," and then by "In the Air," where we last met them.

  The boys are not as young as they once were--indeed, in this book,Dick, the oldest, gets married and settles down to business. But allare as bright and lively as ever, and Tom is just as full of fun. Whenthey go to New York City they have some strenuous times, and all provetheir worth in more ways than one. Their father is in deep trouble andthey aid him, and clear up quite a mystery.

  Up to this writing, the sale on this line of books is but a trifleshort of one million and a quarter copies! This is to me, of course,tremendously gratifying. Again, as in the past, I thank my manyreaders for their interest in what I have written for them; and Itrust the perusal of my works will do them good.

  Affectionately and sincerely yours,

  Arthur M. Winfield.

  CHAPTER I

  THE BOYS AT BRILL

  "Boys, what do you say to a trip in the Dartaway this afternoon?"

  "Suits me, Sam," replied Tom Rover.

  "Providing the breeze doesn't get too strong," returned Dick Rover, ashe put up his hand to feel the air.

  "Oh, I don't think it will blow too much," went on Sam Rover. "I don'tmind some air."

  "But no more storms for me!" cried his brother Tom, with a shake ofhis head. "That last old corker was enough for me."

  "Where shall we go?" questioned Dick, with a queer little smilecreeping around the corners of his mouth.

  "Oh, my, just to hear Dick!" cried Tom, with a grin. "As if he wouldgo anywhere but to Hope Seminary, to call on Dora!"

  "And as if you would go anywhere but to call on Nellie, at the sameplace!" retorted the oldest Rover boy.

  "Now, children, children'" came sweetly from Sam. "You mustn't quarrelabout the dear girls. I know both of you are as much gone as can be.But----"

  "And how about Grace, Sam?" said Tom. "Didn't I hear you making upsome poetry about her yesterday, 'Those limpid eyes and pearly ears,and'----"

  "Rats, Tom! I don't make up poetry--I leave that to Songbird,"interrupted the youngest Rover boy. "Just the same, it will be nice tocall on the girls. They'll be looking for us some day this week."

  "That's right--and maybe we can give them a little ride," put in DickRover.

  "Do you remember the ride we gave Dora and Nellie, when we rescuedthem from Sobber, Crabtree, and the others?" asked Tom.

  "Not likely to forget that in a hurry," answered his big brother. "Bythe way, I wonder when the authorities will try those rascals?"

  "Not right away, I'm thinking, Dick," answered Tom. "The law is ratherslow up here in these back counties."

  "Never mind--they will get what is coming to them sooner or later,"was Sam's comment.

  "Abduction is rather a serious offense."

  "Right you are," answered Dick. "And I'll be glad to see Crabtree,Sobber, and our other enemies behind the bars. Then they won't be ableto bother us any more."

  "That will be the end of Sobber's efforts to annex the Stanhopefortune," mused Sam. "How hard he did try to get it away from Mrs.Stanhope and the girls!"

  "I shouldn't have minded that had he used fair methods, Sam," returnedthe big brother. "But when it came to stealing and abducting----"

  "Hello, you fellows!" shouted a voice from behind the Rover boys."Plotting mischief?"

  "Not just now, Stanley," answered Dick, as his college chum caught himby the shoulder and swung him around playfully.

  "Want to go for a row on the river?" asked Stanley Browne.

  "Not just now, Stanley. I've got a lecture to attend, and thisafternoon we are going over to Hope in the biplane."

  "Wish I had a flying machine," said the student, wistfully.

  "Better swap the boat for one," suggested Sam.

  "No, I think rowing is safer. Some day, if you are not careful, you'llget an awful tumble from that machine."

  "We try to be as careful as possible," answered Dick. "Seriously,though, Stanley, I don't care for flying as much as I thought Iwould."

  "Is that so? Now, I thought you were planning a honeymoon trip byaeroplane. Think of the novelty of it!"

  "No, a steamboat or a parlor car will be good enough for me, when I goon a honeymoon trip," answered Dick, and for a very good reason heblushed deeply.

  "Hello, William Philander Tubbs!" cried Tom, as a tall, dudish-lookingstudent crossed the college campus. "What's the price of eggs thismorning?"

  "What is that, Tom?" questioned the stylishly-dressed youth, as heturned in the direction of the others.

  "I asked what was the price of eggs?" said Tom, innocently.

  "The--er--the price of eggs? How should I know?" stammered WilliamPhilander Tubbs in astonishment.

  "Weren't you in the chicken business once?"

  "Gracious me! No, Tom, no!"

  "Funny I made the mistake--and I want to know the price of eggs theworst way," went on the fun-loving Rover, innocently.

  "What do you want to know the price of eggs for?" questioned WilliamPhilander, curiously.

  "Why, you see, we've got a new problem in geometry to solve, and theprice of eggs will help out," continued Tom, looking very serious.

  "What is it, Tom?"

  "It's this, Tubby, my boy. If the diameter of an egg ten degrees westof its North Pole is two and eleven-tenths inches, what is the valueof the shell unfilled? I thought you might help me out on that."

  "Tom, you are poking fun at me!" cried the dudish student, as asnicker went up from the other youths. "And please don't call meTubby, I beg of you," pleaded William Philander.

  "All right, Billy Gander," murmured Tom. "It shan't occur again."

  "Billy Gander! That is worse than Tubby!" groaned the dudish youth."Oh, you are awful!" he added, and strode off, trying to look veryindignant.

  "Poor Tubbs, I wonder if he will ever be sensible and get over hisdudish ways," was Dick's comment.

  "I doubt it--for it seems to be born in him," returned Sam.

  "But he's a good sort with it all," ventured Stanley Browne.

  "First-rate," agreed Tom. "But I--well, I simply can't help pokingfun at him when he's around, he's such a dandy, and so lordly in hismanner."

  "Here comes Songbird!" interrupted Sam. "And, see, he is writingverses, as usual. I wonder----"

  "Look!" exclaimed Dick. "Oh! There's a collision for you!"

  William Philander Tubbs had started across the campus with his headhigh in the air. He was looking to one side and did not notice theapproach of another student, who was coming forward thoughtfully,carrying a pad in one hand and writing as he walked. There was asudden meeting of the pair, and the pad fell to the ground and with itthe fancy headgear the dudish student was wearing.

  "Oh, I--er--I beg your pardon, really I do, don't you know!"stammered William Phil
ander.

  "Great Hannibal's tombstone!" spluttered the other student. "What areyou trying to do, Tubbs, knock me down?"

  "I beg your pardon, Powell, I didn't see you coming," answered theother, as he picked up his hat and commenced to brush it off withcare.

  "You must be getting blind," growled John Powell, otherwise known asSongbird. "Confound the luck--you spoilt one of my best rhymes," headded, as he stooped to pick up his writing pad.

  "Sorry, upon my honor I am," returned William Philander. "Can I helpyou out on it?"

  "I don't think you can. Did you ever try to write poetry--realpoetry, I mean?"

  "No, my dear boy, no. I'm afraid I would not be equal to it."

  "Then I don't see how you are going to help me," murmured Songbird,and he passed on a few steps, coming to a halt presently to jot downsome words on his pad.

  "Hello, Songbird!" called out Tom. "How is the Muse to-day, red-hot?"

  For a moment John Powell did not answer, but kept on writing. Then hisface broke out into a sudden smile.

  "There, that's it!" he cried. "I've got it at last! I knew I'd get itif I kept at it long enough."

  "Knew you'd get what, the measles?" asked the fun-loving Tom.

  "'Measles' nothing!" snorted the would-be poet. "I have been writing apoem on 'The Springtime of Love,' and I wished to show how----"

  "'The Springtime of Love!'" interrupted Tom. "That must be a secondcousin to the ditty entitled ''Tis Well to Meet Her at the Well.'"

  "I never heard of such a poem," answered Songbird, with a serious air."How does it go?"

  "It doesn't go, Songbird; it stands still. But what have you got onthe pad?"

  "Yes, let us hear the latest effusion," put in Sam.

  "But not if it takes too long," was Dick's comment. "I've only gotabout ten minutes before that lecture on 'The Cave Dwellers.'"

  "I can give Songbird six minutes," said Stanley, as he consulted hiswatch.

  "This is--er--something of a private poem," stammered Songbird. "Iwrote it for a--er--for a personal friend of mine."

  "Minnie Sanderson!" cried Sam, mentioning the name of a farmer'sdaughter with whom all were well acquainted, and a young lady Songbirdcalled on occasionally.

  "Read it, anyway, Songbird," said Dick.

  "Well, if you care to hear it," responded the would-be poet, and hebegan to read from the pad:

  "In early Spring, when flowers bloom In garden and on fields afar, My thoughts go out to thee, sweet love, And then I wonder where you are! When pansies show their varied hues And birds are singing as they soar, I listen and I look, and dream Of days when we shall meet once more!"

  "Grand! fine! immense!" murmured Tom. "Byron couldn't hold a candle tothat, Songbird!"

  "I listen to the tiny brook That winds its way o'er rock and sand And in the running water see A face that--that--that----"

  "Go ahead, Songbird!" cried Sam, as the would-be poet stumbled andhalted.

  "I--er--I had the last line, but Tubbs knocked it out of me,"grumbled Songbird. "And say, he knocked something else out of me!" heexclaimed suddenly. "I was going to tell you an important bit ofnews."

  "You were?" cried Dick. "What?"

  "The word just came in over the telephone, from the weekly newspaperoffice. Doctor Wallington said you would want to know about it."

  "But what is it?" demanded Sam, impatiently.

  "Josiah Crabtree has escaped from jail."

  "Escaped!" ejaculated Tom.

  "Why, we were just talking about him!" put in Dick "When did thishappen?"

  "Last night, so the newspaper man said. It seems there was a smallfire at the jail--down in the kitchen. There was great excitement,for supper was just being served. In the excitement three of theprisoners, who were out of their cells, escaped. Josiah Crabtree wasone of them."

  "Too bad!" murmured Sam. "And we thought he was safe!"

  "This spells Trouble for us," was Tom's comment, and Dick nodded hishead, to show that he was of the same opinion.