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.