MR. WARDELL'S CONFESSION
The tableau which presented itself to the view of Mr. Larabee showed Mr.
Hamilton gazing at Dick, and our hero, with a strange expression on his
face, looking at his father. He was wondering just how much his uncle
had overheard.
"Can't sleep; eh?" repeated Mr. Hamilton, after a pause.
"No, that dog of Nephew Richard's makes such a noise. Can't he be sent
farther off?"
"I--I'll have Grit taken away, Uncle Ezra," promised Dick, quickly.
"I'll attend to it right away. I'm sorry he annoyed you."
"Huh!" snorted the visitor. "I never could see the use of dogs, anyhow.
They eat 'most as much as humans, and never do any work."
"They keep tramps away," said Dick, in defense of his pet.
"Huh! A good shotgun near the door, where a tramp can see it, beats all
your dogs, and it don't cost anythin' either," declared Mr. Larabee,
with a sniff of disdain. "One charge of powder--not too much--and a
little salt and pepper, will do for a whole season of tramps. You don't
have to shoot the gun off, you know," he explained. "Sometimes one load
will do for several seasons, and think of the money you save."
"I'd rather have Grit," said Dick, simply.
"Sittin' up rather late; aren't you, Mortimer?" went on Mr. Larabee, who
was attired in a faded dressing gown, rather too short for him. It
showed his lean legs, the feet encased in ancient slippers, which, Uncle
Ezra boasted, had lasted him many years.
"I seldom go to bed early," spoke the millionaire.
"But it's late for Nephew Richard," went on the old man. "Growin' boys
should be a-bed early. When I was a lad we went to bed soon after
sundown--we had to, for we had to git up at four o'clock to milk. But
the present generation has it too easy--they're pampered too much."
"Dick and I were talking business," said Mr. Hamilton, and he glanced
sharply at his brother-in-law, to see if he had overheard any of the
conversation. If Mr. Larabee had done so, he showed no signs of it.
"Business!" he exclaimed. "Wa'al, of course that's a good thing if
Nephew Richard profits by what he hears. I hope he does. But I've lost
considerable sleep over that pesky dog. I wish you'd attend to him."
"I will!" exclaimed Dick, hurrying out to the stable. "I guess Grit
hasn't done much sleeping, either," he murmured, "not while he knew
Uncle Ezra was in the house, anyhow. I don't see why he has to be so
mean--Uncle Ezra, I'm thinking of," went on Dick, reflectively. "I
suppose it comes natural, but it isn't very pleasant.
"There's that Mr. Wardell--he's practically ruined him, just on account
of a greed for money, when he's already got more than he knows what to
do with. Well, I'm going to help that young fellow if I can--I'm going
to try to help him get back his fortune. I know how I'd feel if I lost
mine--especially by some trick like this.
"Yes, I'll get in touch with him, and see if we can't beat Uncle Ezra at
his own game. Come on, Grit," he went on, speaking to the dog, who
vainly tried to break his chain the quicker to get near Dick. "You've
got to go into exile for the rest of the night, anyhow, all on account
of Uncle Ezra. I'm sorry, but it has to be, old man."
Caressing his dog, Dick took him to a distant tool house in the garden,
far enough off so that should Grit bark or whine Mr. Larabee would not
hear him. The dog whimpered a bit when Dick went away, but soon
accustomed himself to the new situation.
"To-morrow I'll write to Mr. Wardell," decided Dick, as he rejoined his
father, Mr. Larabee having gone back to his room. Mr. Hamilton approved
of this plan, and Dick went to bed to dream of saving the fortune of an
unfortunate man, and shooting across country in his big touring car.
"I'll sort of combine business with pleasure," remarked the youth next
morning, as he arose and recalled his dream.
The letter to Mr. Wardell having been written, Dick and his two chums
took the new car out for a spin. Mr. Hamilton consented to be driven to
the railroad depot in it, as he had to go to a distant city on some
business. Mr. Larabee, who was going back to Dankville, much to the
satisfaction of Dick, refused an invitation to try out the _Last Word_.
"Trust myself in that? Never!" he exclaimed. "I'd as soon think of
riding on a fire engine. You mark my words, Nephew Richard, you'll come
to grief in that car yet. It's too big and heavy."
"It has to be, for what I want of it," replied our hero. "I'm going to
cross the continent in it, and sometimes we may be stuck where there are
no hotels. In that case we'll have a hotel with us."
"Oh, the sinful shame and waste of money!" cried Uncle Ezra, dolefully
shaking his head.
Dick and his chums, with Grit as a mascot, had a fine ride for a
considerable distance out into the country and back. The car behaved
perfectly, and Dick found she had more speed than he had suspected. The
luxury of it appealed to the three young men, and they were looked on
with envious eyes as they sped along the broad highways.
Dick posted his letter to Mr. Wardell, and then there was nothing to do
but await an answer. Paul and Innis planned to go to their homes, to
arrange for the long trip with Dick, and were to return to Hamilton
Corners in about a week. In the meantime the young millionaire would
perfect his plans for the continental tour.
There was considerable to be done in the way of laying out a route, and
arranging to communicate with his father at certain points. Also Dick
wanted to have plenty of time to aid Mr. Wardell in recovering his
fortune.
"And I've got to do it without Uncle Ezra knowing anything about it,"
decided Dick. "If he found it out he might find a way, law or no law, to
prevent us from filing that protest in time. Oh, I've got to be as foxy
as Uncle Ezra himself." But Dick little realized the resourcefulness of
his relative.
A few days after Dick's chums had gone to their homes, when the former
was wondering when he would hear from the man whose car he had
purchased, Gibbs came to him in the library one afternoon with the
information that a visitor wanted to see Dick.
"Bring him in here," he requested the butler. "Oh, hello, Mr. Wardell!"
Dick exclaimed when he saw who his caller was. "I'm real glad to see
you. I was getting ready to come on to New York and meet you, as soon as
you sent me word."
"Were you, indeed? I thought I had better take a run up here, though,
as I haven't any permanent address in New York at present. I haven't my
plans made, and I may go away at any time. But I am curious to know what
good news you have to tell me," for Dick had not given the particulars
in his letter. "I don't see how there can be any good news for me any
more," went on Mr. Wardell, rather despondently.
"Well, there is," said Dick, simply. "What would you say if I told you
there was a chance to get back your fortune?"
"I'd say, I'm afraid, that you were dreaming."
"I never was more wide awake. Listen," and Dick quickly related the gist
of what he and his father had talked over.
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Wardell. "If the papers are filed in
time I can save my fortune?"
"That's about it. Can you arrange to file them?"
"I can, I think--no, by Jove! Dick, I can't, either. At least I'm afraid
I can't. I'll tell you how I'm fixed. I am about to go to South America
for a mining concern. It's a good opening, and it's too good to turn
down. I can make my living at it, and in time I may get rich by it. It's
a bird in the hand, and it's worth two in the bush, where my former
fortune seems to be at present. I don't see how I can go out to San
Francisco and to South America, too. And yet I would like to get back
my fortune, for I am beginning to believe that it wasn't taken from me
altogether fairly."
"We won't go into that now," spoke Dick. "But can you arrange with your
lawyer to furnish the necessary papers?"
"Yes. I guess Mr. Tunison would do that for me, even if I can't pay his
regular fee. He's done enough business for our family in the past. But,
look here, Mr. Hamilton, what good will the papers do me when I can't go
to San Francisco to file them? At least, I don't think I ought to give
up a certain, sure thing for one that's only a chance. I can't file the
papers after I get them."
"Well, then, I can!" cried Dick.
"You can? What do you mean?"
"I mean that my chums and I are going to take a tour to California. I
can combine business with pleasure, and file those papers for you. If I
can do it in time, you'll get a chance to recover your fortune."
"And will you do that for me?"
"I certainly will!"
Mr. Wardell clasped Dick's hand in a hearty grasp.
"Look here, old man," he said feelingly, "you've done too much for me
already."
"Oh, pshaw! I haven't done anything worth mentioning!" exclaimed Dick,
who disliked having a fuss made over him. "I bought your car as much
for myself as to help you out of a hole."
"Oh, it isn't that I mean!" cried Mr. Wardell, quickly. "Dick, I've a
confession to make. You may not know it, but you saved my life that day
on the railroad tracks."
"Saved your life?"
"Yes, I was down and out! I didn't see a thing to live for, and I wasn't
going to look for a reason. I was going to cash in when you and your
chum came along, and I didn't have the nerve to do what I was going to
do--shuffle off this mortal coil. You saved my life, Dick Hamilton, and
now you are going to save my fortune for me. You're doing too much!" and
the visitor seemed much affected.