t
isn't a bad thing to have a son that knows something."

It was evident from Mrs. McGregor's tone that she might have said more
but for the stern belief that she must not flatter her children.
Therefore to cut short the danger of such a crime she brusquely hurried
Carl out of the kitchen, merely calling after him:

"Don't forget to bring home a yeast cake to-night or you'll get no
bread to-morrow. Put your mind on it, now. If you remembered the
errands I ask you to do half as well as you remember about cotton gins
and the like you'd save layers of shoe leather."

It was a characteristic farewell. Mrs. McGregor would not have been
Mrs. McGregor had she not uttered it. All this Carl understood and,
undaunted by the words, he bent to kiss his mother on the cheek.

"I suppose you wouldn't have time to stop into the Harlings on your
way," suggested she, with a twinkle in her eye.

"I was planning to stop there a minute as I went along."

"I'll be bound you were. One might as well try to keep a fly out of the
molasses as to keep you away from the Harlings. Well, since you are
going that way anyhow, you can carry over a bowl of broth. I made it
yesterday a-purpose. Tell Mrs. Harling it will only need to be heated
up for herself and Grandfather Harling."

CHAPTER III

A TRAGEDY

It was in the corner block beyond Mulberry Court that the Harlings
lived, and had you asked Carl McGregor or his chum Jack Sullivan who
Hal Harling was you would have received in return for your ignorance a
withering stare, a sigh of pity, or possibly no reply at all. Any one
who did not know Hal Harling was either to be scorned or condoled with,
as the case might be. Yet each boy would have found it difficult to put
into words who and what this distinguished personage really was.

Hal Harling was the embryo political boss of the district; the leader
of the gang; the hero of every boy who lived within a radius of half a
mile of the dingy flat on Broad Street. He was a tall, jovial-faced,
thick-set fellow with the physique of a prize fighter and such an
abundance of careless good humor that it bubbled contagiously from his
round blue eyes and smiling lips. One would have said he was the last
person in the world to take offence and indeed on first glance one
might safely have made the assertion. But with this gay, happy-go-lucky
disposition went a highly developed desire for fair play which at times
suddenly converted the balmy, easy-