UNCLE EZRA
"Quiet, Grit! What's the matter, old fellow?"
"He seems to think some one is in our room," said Paul Drew. He and Dick
had returned from their walk, Grit resplendent in a new, brass-studded
collar, and the dog had shown signs of resentful excitement on nearing
the door of the room where the two chums lodged.
"I wonder----?" began Dick, and then, as he opened the door, and saw a
rather grizzled man standing near the window--a man with a queer little
tuft of whiskers on his chin--Dick exclaimed:
"Uncle Ezra!"
"Yes, Nephew Richard. I am here. I got through my business sooner than I
expected and came over."
"I'm glad you did, Uncle Ezra. Quiet, Grit, or I'll send you to the
stable," for the dog was uttering low growls, and sidling closer and
closer to the aged man, who still remained standing. It might be noticed
that our hero did not say that he was glad to see his uncle. He was
not, and he did not believe in saying what was not so, even to be
polite.
"Have you got that savage cur still?" demanded Mr. Larabee, while he
bowed slightly in response to a salutation from Paul.
"I expect to have Grit for a long time yet," replied his nephew, coldly.
"Though if he annoys you I'll have him taken away," and he pushed a
button on the wall.
"He does annoy me! You know I can't abide dogs. Useless critters, eatin'
almost as much as a man, all covered with fleas, and no good anyhow!
Send him away!"
"Grit, I guess you'd better go," said Dick, softly, as a janitor came in
response to his ring. "Take him to the stable, Hawkins. I'll have him
back--later," he added in a low voice. Grit was led off, whining in
protest as he looked at Dick, and then shifting his tones to a menacing
growl as he glared at Uncle Ezra, who, he well knew, was the cause of
his banishment.
"Ugly brute!" muttered Mr. Larabee. "I've been waiting quite some time
for you, Nephew Richard," he went on. "I was afraid I'd have to go back
without seeing you. I've got a limited excursion ticket, and if I didn't
use it back to Dankville to-day I'd lose the value of it. Leastwise I
might have to sue the railroad company to recover, and lawsuits is
dreadful expensive--dreadful."
"We just went for a walk," Dick explained. "I did not know exactly what
time you would come."
"No, I couldn't tell, myself. But I got through my business sooner than
I expected, even with attending to some after I got through with the
deal that brought me on here."
"It came out all right, I hope," ventured Dick.
"Yes--oh, yes. My business allers does come out satisfactory--leastwise
mostly." Perhaps Uncle Ezra was thinking of the time he had interfered
with Dick's yachting trip, with disastrous results to himself.
"I got all that was coming to me," the aged man went on, "though I did
have a fight for it."
"Did some one owe you money?" asked Dick.
"Well, yes, in a way. You see it was a young fellow who had been left
more money than was good for him. He didn't know enough to take care of
it, and now I've got it." Uncle Ezra chuckled grimly.
"I hope you didn't take all he had, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick.
"Why shouldn't I?" Mr. Larabee asked, indignantly. "This chap didn't
know the value of money--I do. He made certain investments, and I told
him that I'd insist on having my last dollar if they failed. They did
fail, just as I knew they would, and now I have his money. It was mine
by right, though, for business is business, and he's young enough to
start over again. It will do him good. Ha! Ha! I'll never forget how
blank he looked when he asked me if I wouldn't give him another chance.
Another chance! Ho! Ho! He had his chance and didn't use it. Another
chance! I guess not! I want what's mine!" And Uncle Ezra ground his
teeth and clenched his bony fists in a way that was not pleasant to
contemplate.
"Then you cleaned him out, Uncle Ezra?" asked Dick.
"Not I--no. He cleaned himself out by his foolish investments. You can't
have your cake and eat it too, you know. You can't be a 'sport' and not
pay attention to your business, and expect to keep your money. You've
got to be on the watch all the while. I made a pretty penny out of
it--er--that is, not too much!" Uncle Ezra added quickly, as if fearful
lest some one should attempt to borrow something from him. "But a
legitimate profit--yes, a legitimate profit.
"And, as I got through sooner than I expected, Nephew Richard, I came
over to see you, as I promised. But I'll soon have to be getting back.
I've got a new hired man, and I know he'll feed too much to the stock,
and ruin 'em, to say nothing of wasting grain. I must get back before
feeding time."
"I hope you'll stay and take lunch with me," suggested Dick, as he
thought he saw a hungry look in his uncle's face.
"Yes, I might," was the answer, as though Mr. Larabee was doing Dick a
favor.
"Then I'll send word to have a place laid for you at our table. You
know some of my friends, I think."
"Humph! Yes, I do, and I can't say I altogether approve of 'em, Nephew
Richard. They spend too much money."
"Well I guess they've got plenty to spend," said Dick, for Kentfield
Academy was attended by the sons of many rich men, though it was in no
sense a snobbish institution.
"Yes," went on Uncle Ezra, with a grim chuckle, "I came here to meet a
young man, and I met him. I came to teach him a lesson, and I taught it.
I guess Mr. Frank Wardell won't be so high and mighty after this. I
cleaned him out--and it was all done in a regular way, too. I cleaned
him out."
"Ruined him, you mean, Uncle Ezra?"
"Well, _he_ accused me of that, but it wa'n't my fault. He brought it on
himself, and he can start over again. He's young yet."
"But what will become of him, Uncle Ezra, if he hasn't any money?"
"I don't know, and he didn't either by the way he rushed off after I got
through with him," and the old man chuckled. "But I reckon he can go to
work like the rest of us. I offered him a place in my woolen mill at
Dankville. I said I could pay him five dollars a week to start, though I
know he wouldn't be wuth it. But he might learn the trade."
Dick said nothing, but the thought of a ruined man, who must have had a
considerable fortune, going to work for Uncle Ezra in the woolen mill
for five dollars a week, struck our hero as being rather pathetic.
"Did he take your offer, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul.
"He did not!" exclaimed Dick's uncle. "He said he'd become a tramp
first. Wa'al, he kin if he wants to--there's no law ag'in' it!" and
again he chuckled mirthlessly.
"I'll go see about lunch," volunteered Dick. "Oh, something for me,
Toots?" he exclaimed, as he opened the door, and saw an old Sergeant
standing there with an envelope in his hand.
"Yes, a letter, Mr. Hamilton."
"It's from dad!" exclaimed our hero, as he noted the writing.
"I hope he has taken my advice, and will withdraw you from this useless
military academy," spoke Uncle Ezra. "It is time you went to work,
Nephew Richard."
"I'll be back in a little while," replied Dick, not taking the trouble
to answer his uncle directly, and he hurried off down the corridor to
arrange about having his guest at luncheon in the mess hall.
While preparations for the meal are under way I shall ask for a few
minutes of your time--you my new readers--while I briefly explain about
Dick Hamilton, and introduce you more formally to him, as he has
appeared in the previous volumes of this series.
Dick was the only son of Mortimer Hamilton, of Hamilton Corners, in New
York State. Mr. Hamilton was a millionaire, with varied interests, and
Dick had a fortune in his own right, left to him by his mother.
In my first book, called "Dick Hamilton's Fortune," I related how this
inheritance came to the youth, and under what peculiar conditions, so
that he really had to work hard to deserve it. And he nearly lost it at
that. The second volume deals with Dick's life at a well-known military
academy--Kentfield--and is entitled, "Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days." How
he had to struggle against heavy odds, and how he won out, is related in
the story.
In "Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht," our hero found himself confronted with
a queer problem. How he worked it out, and defeated the aims of Uncle
Ezra, you will find fully set forth.
Uncle Ezra Larabee was a curious character. He was quite rich, perhaps
not so much so as Mr. Hamilton, but with a large fortune. He did not
seem to enjoy life, however, and was continually preaching economy. He
had a particular aversion to the bulldog, Grit, and, it might be said in
passing, Grit returned the compliment, so to speak.
When Dick and his chums at Kentfield found that their football challenge
to the Blue Hill Academy was treated as a joke, they were quite angry,
and justly so. True, the former military academy team was in poor shape,
but the lads were eager to do better.
And in "Dick Hamilton's Football Team," the fourth book of the series, I
related how the young millionaire made a big change at Kentfield, and
what came of it, and I also related how he was instrumental in helping
his father in a business transaction.
The Fall and football were things of the past, and now the long summer
vacation was approaching. Baseball had the call, and Dick was acting as
the academy pitcher with great success. A few weeks more and Kentfield
would close until Fall, and what to do in the interim was puzzling not
only Dick, but some of his chums.
"Well, Uncle Ezra," said the cadet, as he came back into the room a
little later, to find his chum Paul fidgeting about, for it was no joke
to entertain Mr. Larabee, "I've arranged to have our lunch a little
ahead of the rest. I know you want to catch your train."
"Yes, I do. I don't want to waste my return ticket. I'll go down at
once."
Paul gave a sigh of relief, and winked at Dick. The three moved toward
the dining hall, Dick making inquiries about his aunt, and some other
distant relatives in Dankville, a place he hated above all others,--for
his uncle's house there was almost the personification of gloom.
"Wa'al, your aunt's as well as she can expect to be," remarked Mr.
Larabee. "She suffers consid'able from stomach misery, and the doctor
don't seem to do her no good. He charges enough too, and he's allers
changin' the medicine. I should think he could take one kind and stick
to it."
"He has to try different kinds to see what is the best," suggested Dick.
"I know, but you ought to see the bottles, only half-took, that I have
to throw away. I tried to git a rebate on 'em, but the druggist said he
couldn't use 'em. So I'm that much out," and Mr. Larabee drew a deep
sigh.
"Any news from home, Dick?" asked Paul, as the three sat alone in the
mess hall, at a special table for visitors. "How is your father?"
"By Jove! I forgot to read the letter!" exclaimed Dick, pulling it from
his pocket. "Excuse me while I look at it," and he ripped open the
envelope.