E-text prepared by Al Haines

EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF

by

HOPKINS MOORHOUSE

Author of "Deep Furrows"

Toronto
The Musson Book Company Limited

Copyright, Canada, 1920by Hopkins Moorehouse

The Musson Book Co., Limited
Publishers . . . Toronto

To My Mother

FOREWORD

Although prefaces are not the fashion in these accelerated times, someword of warning is due those who had the patience to read "DeepFurrows." It seems but fair to point out that whereas "Deep Furrows"was historical and its "characters" actual people taking prominent partin current events, the present pages are purely fictitious and thecharacters therein not even composite portraits of living personages.

Similarly the story events are pure invention and as fittingly mighthave been staged in any other of the nine provinces. The author humblycraves indulgence if he has in any way exceeded the license allowed himin spinning the incidents necessary for a novel of this type whileseeking verisimilitude in settings with which he is familiar.

—H. M.

Winnipeg, February, 1920.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I FOG II BLIND MAN'S BUFF III "NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS" IV THE LISTENING STENOGRAPHER V THE TAN SATCHEL VI AGAIN THE TAN SATCHEL VII CROSS CURRENTS VIII ABOARD THE PRIVATE CAR, "OBASKA" IX CONSPIRING EVENTS X THE STENOGRAPHER STILL LISTENING XI GROWING ANXIETY XII KENDRICK MAKES A TOUCHDOWN XIII AND CONVERTS A GOAL XIV WHAT HAPPENED ON THE WINNIPEG EXPRESS XV RAPPROCHEMENT XVI THE TAN SATCHEL ONCE MORE XVII DISTURBING NEWS XVIII MCCORQUODALE EXPLAINS XIX FURTHER STRANGE PROCEEDINGS XX A MAN OF MONEY XXI DOUBLE TROUBLE XXII LOWERING CLOUDS XXIII THE FIGHT XXIV THE RACE BEGINS XXV EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF XXVI NIP AND TUCK XXVII CLOSE QUARTERS XXVIII SOUVENIRS

Every Man For Himself

CHAPTER I

FOG

Except for the lone policeman who paused beneath the arc light at theFront Street intersection to make an entry in his patrol book, BayStreet was deserted. The fog which had come crawling in from the lakehad filled the lower streets and was feeling its way steadily throughthe sleeping city, blurring the street lights. Its clammy touchdarkened the stone facades of tall, silent buildings and left tiny wetbeads on iron railing and grill work. Down towards the waterfront ayard-engine coughed and clanked about in the mist somewhere, noisilykicking together a string of box-cars, while at regular intervals thefog-horn over at the Eastern Gap bellowed mournfully into the night.

After tucking away his book and rebuttoning his tunic the policemanlingered on the corner for a moment in the manner of one who hasnothing to do and no place to go. He was preparing to saunter on whenfootfalls began to echo in the emptiness of the street and presentlythe figure of a young man grew out of the gray vapor—a young man whowas swinging down towards the docks with the easy stride of an athlete.As he came within the restricted range of the arc light it was to beseen that his panama hat was tilted to the back of his head and that hewas holding a silk handkerchief to one

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