no thought of chivalry on the part of the conquerer, who landed again as he was climbing to his feet.
"Let up!" protested the victim. "Do you want to kill a fellow?"
"Begorrah, ye guessed it right the fust time!" was the reply of the friend, who turned to Alvin:
"If ye'll smash that spalpeen I'll be attending to the same wid this one."
The slight diversion was enough to give the dazed victim on the ground time to come to his feet, when he turned and was off like a deer in the direction whence had come his conqueror. Determined not to be despoiled of his victory, the Irish lad – as his accent showed him to be – pursued at the highest bent of speed. But his short legs were not equal to the task, and the terrified assailant made such excellent time that a few minutes sufficed to carry him beyond all danger. The "broth of a boy" would not give up at first. The two held their places in the middle of the highway, so that both were in plain sight, with the fugitive steadily drawing away.
"Howld on, ye spalpeen!" shouted the pursuer. "I'm not through wid ye!"
But he who fled was glad enough to be through with the business, and kept up his desperate flight until the other ceased and turned back to learn how matters were going with the friend to whose aid he had rushed.
A somewhat similar story was to be told of the second miscreant, who had seized the chance to take to flight in the opposite direction. In this case, the fleet footed Alvin proved the superior in speed and within a hundred yards overtook him. The moment he was within reach he let drive and his fist landed in the back of the other's neck. Inasmuch as he was going at his highest speed and the blow sent his head and shoulders forward with additional swiftness, the inevitable result was that he fell, his face plowing the dirt and his hat flying a dozen feet from him.
Before he could rise, Alvin was upon him. The fellow threw up his hands to protect his countenance and whined:
"Please don't hit me again! I'm half killed now!"
The cringing appeal changed Alvin's indignation to disgusted pity. He unclenched his fingers and dropped his hands.
"Get up! I won't hit you, though you deserve it."
His victim seemed to be in doubt and slowly came to his feet still whining:
"We didn't know it was you; it was a mistake."
"It does look that way," was the grim comment of Alvin. "Get up, I say; you have nothing to fear from me."
The fellow was in doubt. He slowly rose, but the instant he stood erect, he was off again as if propelled from a catapult. Alvin, instead of pursuing and overtaking him, stood still and laughed.
"Come back and get your hat!" he shouted, but the fugitive did not abate his speed and made the dust fly until he vanished in the moonlight.
Yielding to an impulse, Alvin walked to where the headgear lay and picked it up. It was a valuable chip hat, such as is fashionable in summer in all parts of the country. The captor was wondering whether it contained the fellow's name. The moonlight was not strong enough for him to see distinctly, and, bringing out his rubber safe from his hip pocket, he struck a match to aid in the scrutiny.
CHAPTER III
Mike Murphy
Holding the tiny flicker of flame in the hollow of the hat, Alvin saw in fancy gilt letters, pasted on the silk lining, the following:
"NOXON O"
"That's a queer name," he reflected. "I never heard anything like it."
"Do ye know ye're holding the same upside down?"
The Irish lad, panting from his exertion in running, stood grinning at Alvin's elbow. "'Spose ye turns the hat round so as to revarse the same."
Alvin did so and then read "O NOXON."
"It's the oddest name I ever saw, for 'NOXON' reads the same upside down and backwards – Ugh!"
Seized with a sudden loathing, he sent the hat skimming a dozen feet away. His feeling was as if he had grasped a serpent. Then he turned and impulsively offered his hand to the Irish lad.
"Shake! You were a friend in need."
"It's mesilf that's under deep obligations to yersilf."
"How do you make that out?"
"Didn't ye give me the finest chance for a shindy that I've had since I lift Tipperary? I haven't had so much fun since Pat Geoghaghan almost whaled the life out of me at home."
"Who are you?"
"Mike Murphy, at your sarvice."
And the grinning lad lifted his straw hat and bowed with the grace of a crusader.
"Where do you live?"
"Up the road a wee bit, wid me father and mither."
"Are you the son of Pat Murphy?" asked the astonished Alvin.
"He has the honor, according to his own story, of being me dad."
"Why, he's father's caretaker. I remember he told me some time ago that he had a boy seventeen years old that he had sent word to in Ireland to come over and join him. And you are he! Why, I'm so glad I should like to shake hands with you again."
"I'm nothing loath, but I say that hat ye threw away is more of the fashion in this part of the wurruld than in Tipperary, and if ye have no objections I'll make a trade."
And the Irish lad walked to where the headgear lay, picked it up and pulled it on his crown.
"It's a parfect fit – as the tramp said when he bounced around the kind leddy's yard – don't I look swaat in the same?"
Alvin could not help laughing outright, for the hat was at least a size too small for the proud new owner, and perched on his crown made his appearance more comical than it had been formed by nature.
"I knew ye would be plased, as me uncle said when the docther towld him he would be able to handle his shillaleh inside of a waak and meet his engagement with Dennis O'Shaugnessey at Donnybrook fair. Me dad tached me always to be honest."
To prove which Mike laid down his battered straw hat beside the road, where the seeker of the better headgear would have no trouble in finding it. "And if it's all the same, Alvin, we'll adjourn to our home, for I'm so hungry I could ate me own grandmither."
"How did you know my name?" asked the surprised Alvin.
"Arrah, now, hasn't me dad and mither been writing me since they moved into this part of the wurruld and spaking of yersilf? It was yer telling me that me dad was your dad's caretaker that towld the rist. Ef I had known it was yersilf I would have hit that spalpeen harder."
"You did well as it was. But I say, Mike, when did you arrive in Maine?"
"Only three days since. Having had directions from me dad, as soon as I got ashore in New York I made fur the railway station, where I wint to slaap in the cars and woke up in Portland. Thar I had time to ate breakfast and ride in the train to Bath, where I meant to board the steamboat Gardiner. I had half a minute to sprint down the hill to the wharf, but the time was up before I got there and the men pulled
