ON THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE
"Well, I've struck luck again," said Nat, when he arrived at his
boarding place, and met Dick Talcott.
"Got a job?" questioned the newsboy.
"Yes."
"I hope you're going to get pretty good wages?"
"Ten dollars per week," answered Nat, with just a trace of pride in his
voice.
"Ten dollars. That is luck. What at?"
"I'm in a broker's office, and I'm to do writing and sorting out bills."
"Where is the place?"
"Down on Broadway."
"I'm glad to hear of this, Nat," said the newsboy. "Wish I could strike
something like that."
"Perhaps you will some day, Dick."
"The trouble is I can't write very well. I never had much schooling."
"If you wish, I'll teach you how to write. It always came easy to me."
"Will you teach me? I'll do my best to learn. We can go at it nights."
Early on the following morning, Nat presented himself at the office on
Broadway. He had shined his shoes and brushed his clothes, and presented
a very neat appearance. He found Hamilton Dart at his desk, and smoking
as before.
"I wish you to go to the post office for me," said the man, as soon as
he entered. "Go to the general delivery window and ask for letters for
Samuel Barrows. That is my sick brother-in-law who is visiting me from
Michigan."
"Yes, sir."
"Of course you know where the post office is?"
"Oh, yes. I've been past there several times."
"You needn't be in a hurry. Wait until they sort the eleven-o'clock
mail."
"Yes, sir."
The distance to the post office was a considerable one. But Nat was a
good walker, and found it was only half-past nine when he got there. To
while away the time he determined to walk out on the Brooklyn Bridge and
take in the sights from that elevated structure.
Making his way through the crowd on Park Row, he was soon out on the
bridge, and walking in the direction of Brooklyn. There was a stiff
breeze blowing, and several times his hat was almost lifted from his
head.
Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a stout man running wildly after some
papers which the wind was carrying along the walk on the bridge. The man
secured one of the papers, but two others were fast blowing beyond his
reach, when Nat rushed up and secured them just as they were on the
point of being carried into the river.
"Have--you--got them?" puffed the man, as Nat came towards him.
"Yes, sir. Here you are," and Nat held out the papers.
"Good! I was afraid they were lost to me!" And the stranger heaved a
heavy sigh of relief.
"Were they valuable?" asked our hero, curiously.
"Quite so. They are the legal documents in an important real estate case
now before the courts. It was very kind of you to pick them up for me."
"Oh, it wasn't so much to do," answered Nat.
"Nevertheless, I am much obliged," added the stout man, warmly. "I
shouldn't have come out on the bridge with them. But I love to get the
breeze. I think it does me good. Much obliged;" and then he passed on.
"I guess he's a lawyer, or a real estate dealer," thought Nat. "Well, he
ought to walk. It may take some of the fat off of him."
Nat walked half-way to Brooklyn, and then back again. Shortly after
eleven o'clock he presented himself at the proper window of the post
office.
"Has the eleven o'clock mail been sorted yet?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Have you any letters for Samuel Barrows?"
The clerk looked through one of the boxes beside him.
"Nothing," he answered, briefly.
"Nothing at all?"
The post office clerk shook his head. Seeing this Nat walked away, and
started back for the office.
He did not suspect that his employer had sent him to the post office
merely to get him out of the office, yet such was the fact. Hamilton
Dart had no brother-in-law named Samuel Barrows.
As a matter of fact, Hamilton Dart--that was not his real name, but let
us use it for the present, nevertheless--was nothing but a swindler. He
was worth only a few hundred dollars, and his brokerage and commission
business was such in name only.
While Nat was on his post office errand, Hamilton Dart had two other
callers. The first was a bright young man, hailing from Newark, New
Jersey.
"I am sure you will suit me," said Hamilton Dart, after questioning the
young man. "I am very much pleased with your appearance."
"Thank you," was the brief answer.
"You may go to work to-morrow at twelve dollars per week. Will that
suit?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will, of course, put up one hundred dollars as security," added the
assumed broker.
"What security will you give?" demanded the bright young man from
Newark.
"Oh, I'll give you my personal note," answered Hamilton Dart,
carelessly.
"Well, I'll think it over."
"Eh? I thought you wanted to accept on the spot?" demanded the swindler.
"No, sir," answered the young man. He intended to make some inquiries
into Hamilton Dart's financial standing before investing his cash. "I'll
come around again to-morrow morning."
"I shall give the place to somebody else before that time," was the cold
response.
"If you do, I'll be out of it," was the equally cold answer of the
young Jerseyman, and he walked out of the office.
"One fish I didn't land," muttered Hamilton Dart to himself. "Better
luck next time."
Hardly had the young man left than a sickly-looking middle-aged man
appeared. He had been in the hospital for two months, and out of work
for twice that length of time.
"You advertised for a clerk," he said, sitting down on a chair.
"Yes."
"I am a bookkeeper, and an all-round office man," added the sick man. "I
am willing to work hard for low wages."
"I am always willing to pay good wages to the right man," answered
Hamilton Dart, smoothly.
At this the face of the sick man brightened.
"I have been sick," he went on, apologetically. "But I am getting
stronger every day."
"Well, the work here is not very hard."
"What could you pay me?"
"Twelve dollars per week."
"That would suit me nicely."
"Then you can come to work to-morrow. But you will have to put up one
hundred dollars as security. On that I will allow you six per cent.
interest."
At this announcement the face of the sick man fell.
"I am very sorry, sir, but I haven't the money. My sickness has reduced
me almost to my last dollar."
"Then I can't hire you," said Hamilton Dart, harshly.
"I can give you some excellent references, sir."
"No, I don't care for references. My clerks have to furnish cash
security. I employ no others. You had better see if you can't raise the
money."
"I don't know how I can do it."
"Haven't you any friends or relatives?"
"I have a sister in Brooklyn. She might possibly loan the amount."
"Then you had better see her. I will keep the place open for you for a
couple of days."
The sick man pleaded to be taken on, but Hamilton Dart was obdurate, and
at last the visitor left the office.
"Hang the luck; he must take me for a charity association," muttered the
swindler. "Two lost! This business isn't paying as well as I hoped it
would."
When Nat came back he was somewhat tired from his long tramp. He asked
his employer what he should do next.
"Go and get your lunch, and be back in an hour," was the answer.
Hardly had Nat left the office than a young fellow named Harry Bray
appeared. He had been in to see Hamilton Dart before and carried a
hundred dollars in his vest pocket.
"I will take the position," he said, and handed over his money, which
the swindler pocketed with alacrity.
"When shall I go to work?" asked Harry Bray.
"After lunch. You will have another new clerk to help you, a fellow
named Nat Nason," answered Hamilton Dart.