THE CONSPIRACY
Dick stood at the entrance to the tent receiving his guests. He was a
little pale from his recent experience, but otherwise did not seem to
have suffered any ill effects.
"Well, Bricktop," he called heartily, as the sandy-haired youth
approached, his face almost the color of his locks, "I was afraid you
wouldn't come. If it hadn't been for Bricktop there wouldn't have been
any party here to-night," he went on, turning to a group of young
people. "No, nor any Dick Hamilton, either. He pulled me out in the nick
of time."
"Oh, pshaw! I didn't do anything," protested Bricktop, who hated praise.
"I think he was perfectly splendid!" exclaimed Mabel Ford, looking at
Bricktop with her big blue eyes in a way that made that modest hero
blush more fiercely than before.
"It was perfectly grand!" declared Bertha Lee, known as "Birdy" among
her friends. "How I wish I was a big, strong young man," and she gazed
admiringly at Bricktop.
"Why not a strong lady," suggested Simon Scardale, with a grin, as he
joined the group.
At his approach several girls moved away, as they did not like him. Guy
was close in Simon's wake, and both boys nodded to Dick.
"Feeling pretty fit now, old chap?" asked Simon.
"Oh, I'm all right," answered Dick.
"Feel like having a game of billiards?" went on Simon. "I'll bet you ten
dollars I can beat you on your own table."
"No, thank you," replied Dick, with a laugh. "I'm too busy looking after
my guests to-night. Besides, I don't play for money. Come over some
other time and I'll play you all you like, for fun."
"Stingy beast," muttered Simon, as Dick moved away to greet some
newcomers, "and I need the money, too."
"Maybe you'd lose," suggested Guy.
"I don't play to lose," replied Simon, with an ugly leer.
The little feeling of strangeness which many of the boys and girls at
first experienced gradually wore off, and soon the party was in full
swing. All sorts of games were played, and Dick and his closest chums
saw to it that there was no lack of liveliness. A number of the fathers
and mothers of the younger children had accompanied them, and to these
older folks Dick was attentive, seeing that they had seats, and sending
the waiters to them to ask if they wouldn't have a cup of coffee or
some ices before supper was served.
"Say," observed one man to his wife, after Dick had found them chairs,
"you'd never know he was a millionaire, would you?"
"Why not?"
"Why, because he's just like other boys--he's like one of our own
folks."
"Of course he is," answered his wife. "It's only the wrong kind of
people that money makes any difference to. Dick Hamilton can't help
being nice. His money hasn't spoiled him," which view was shared by more
than one that night.
And such a supper as there was! Long years afterward some of the boys
and girls, who were quite small when they attended Dick's party, used to
tell of it as though it was a visit to fairyland. Dick fairly outdone
himself in seeing that everyone had a good time, and from the faces
around the long tables, set within the tent, it was evident that the way
to young people's hearts, or, at least, to their good spirits, is
through their stomachs.
Dick walked about, like a perfect host, seeing that everyone was served,
before sitting down himself. At his heels followed Grit, who was unhappy
when away from his master.
"Oh, what a perfect darling of a dog!" exclaimed Birdy Lee, as she
stopped over to pat Grit, which indignity he suffered in disdainful
silence.
"Isn't he sweet!" chorused several other girls.
"Well, he's no beauty, judged by young ladies' standards," said Dick,
with a gallant look at his girl friends. "But beauty in a bulldog is
more than skin deep," he added. "Grit is pure gold when it comes to
being a friend."
"What makes his two teeth stick up that way? Don't they hurt his lip?"
asked Alice.
"I never heard him complain," replied Dick. "But I'd better move along,
I guess. Grit is getting hungry, and I don't want him to begin on any of
the waiters. He doesn't take to colored men very well. One of them
started to run when Grit growled at him a while ago as the man was
bringing in a roast chicken."
After supper there were more games, and the fun increased as the hours
passed. Dick was congratulated on every side, not only for the success
of his party, but on his speedy recovery from the boat accident.
As the millionaire's son was crossing the tent, with Grit following at
his heels, he met Guy and Simon, who had been together all the evening,
and who had not mingled much with the other guests.
"Hello, Grit, old boy!" exclaimed Simon, but the dog must have detected
the insincerity in the youth's tones, for he uttered a low growl and
showed his strong teeth.
"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," sneered Simon.
"No, I don't think it would be exactly healthy," remarked Dick.
"Is he a very valuable dog?" Simon went on, paying no further attention
to Grit.
"Well, he's rated at a thousand dollars in the records of the Kennel
Club," answered Dick. "I don't know that any dog is worth so much from a
financial standpoint, but I know I wouldn't sell him for that; would I,
Grit?" and the bulldog almost wagged his stump of a tail off in delight
at Dick's caressing words.
"Humph! I'd look at a thousand dollars a good while before I'd give it
for a dog," cried Simon.
"You don't know Grit," was Dick's quiet answer, as he turned away.
"Come on, Guy," said Simon, a little later. "I'm going to clear out of
here."
"What for? Let's have some more ice-cream. It's bully."
"No," replied Simon, shortly. "I've got a scheme on for making some
money out of Dick, and taking him down a peg. I owe him something for
spoiling that bond sale."
"But he didn't spoil it," replied Guy, who, in spite of certain mean
traits of character, was inclined to be fair. "Besides, you wouldn't
have sold Dick worthless bonds, would you?"
"How was I to know they were worthless?" asked Simon, with a short
laugh. "He has to take chances in this world. But this time there'll be
no slip-up. Come on, I've got to see a man to-night."
As the two walked from the tent, where the merry-making was still going
on, Guy saw something dangling from Simon's pocket. It looked like a
small black snake.
"What's that?" he asked, in some alarm.
"Hush!" whispered Simon. "That's the leash thong of Dick Hamilton's
bulldog. Come along!"