“How can I?” Hawley interrupted. “What a peculiar question! Surely, my dear Fred, you must be forgetting all about the existence of a certain compound called magnesium powder.” “What!” cried Carroll, almost rising in his chair. “Man alive! You don’t mean to say you’d be insane enough to attempt to take snapshots on the streets of Oldham by flash light?” The Camera Chap grinned at his friend’s display of horrified amazement. “Oh, yes, I’ll have to use that flash-light powder, of course,” he answered. “I don’t know of any other way of taking pictures at night; and we positively must have those snapshots.” TO BE CONTINUED. HOW HE PAID HIS PASSAGE. W. BERT FOSTER. “Come, now, hustle out o’ here!” “I ain’t doin’ any harm.” “You git out, I say, an’ don’t ye talk back to me!” “Please, mister----” “Git!” Big Bill Bronson, the dock watchman, raised his heavy hand threateningly, and the forlorn little chap, whom he had addressed in such rough tones, climbed painfully out of the box of straw in which he had taken refuge, as he hoped, for the night. “We don’t want no young wharf rats like you round here,” Big Bill declared. “So, git along with you!” It was still early in the evening. Perhaps if Terry Carson had waited until it had grown darker he might have ensconced himself in the box unobserved, and spent the night in comparative comfort. But he had been so tired that he had risked seeking his “lodging” early, with the above result. For days he had tramped the streets of the seaport town, looking for a job. But nobody seemed to want him, or his services. The past fortnight had been a terrible experience to young Terry. “I warn’t goin’ for to do any harm, sir,” he said, having gotten out of the box of straw. “I dunno whether you was or not,” growled Bill. “There’s too many of the like o’ you ’round. Come, move on, or I’ll hand ye over to the cop!” At this threat, Terry had to give up all hope of his lodging, and moved painfully away. “I just hate this town!” he muttered. “There ain’t no place in it for me. I wish I could get away from it, so I do.” His eyes wandered across the broad docks to the shipping beyond--tall-masted, deep-sea vessels all. “I wish I could get aboard one o’ them boats an’ just sail away from this mean old place.” It was not too dark yet to reveal the decks pretty clearly. The fading light revealed Terry’s sturdy figure, too. He was a strong, well-built chap of fifteen. “Jiminy crickets! I b’lieve I’ll try it!” he muttered, after an instant’s silent scrutiny of the individual on the quarter of the nearest craft; and then, despite the fact that big Bill, the watchman, shouted after him, he turned away from the great gate, which was the only entrance by land to the dock, and marched up the narrow gangplank to the vessel’s deck.