"Been tellin' foine sthories about me!" he exclaimed. "Saying I sthole yer match-box an' set foire to old Gray's house! Oi'll fix ye!"
"BEEN TELLIN' FOINE STHORIES ABOUT ME!" HE EXCLAIMED. "SAYIN' I STHOLE YER MATCH-BOX AN' SET FOIRE TO OLD GRAY'S HOUSE! OI'LL FIX YE!"
He held a heavy stick in his hand, and as he spoke he brought it down with full force on Jack's head. The young machinist went down like a shot.
"Tellin' loies about me!" continued Mosey, as he dragged the half senseless body to the water's edge.
"Help! Help!" cried Jack, in a feeble voice.
But his cries were of no avail, and the next instant the young machinist was being swept by the rushing tide down the stream, to the roaring falls below.
CHAPTER VIII.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE MODEL
Deb grew anxious when seven o'clock came and Jack did not put in an appearance. Under ordinary circumstances, she would not have minded it, but the events of the past two days combined to make her worry more than usual. She sat by the window, watching the stream of people returning from work, and then, when it was half after the hour, put on her hat and descended to the street below.