DICK ENTERS THE TRAP
The young millionaire was hungry, after the three hours spent in the
theatre, and, knowing of a restaurant famed for its late suppers, Dick
determined to go there, partly to see some of the gayer side of life in
New York at midnight, and partly to satisfy his appetite. Accordingly he
gave directions to the chauffeur, who, after speeding the machine down
Broadway, turned into Twenty-third Street.
As the vehicle swung around the corner a lad, who was crossing the
thoroughfare, had to jump nimbly to get out of the way. He reached the
curb, and standing there shook his fist at the occupants of the
taxicab--Dick and the driver.
"What's the matter?" cried the lad who had so nearly escaped being run
down. "Ain't the street big enough for you? Or do you want to chase
folks up on the sidewalk?"
"Aw, beat it!" retorted the chauffeur, with all the contempt some
automobilists feel for pedestrians. He had slowed up at the turn, but
was about to turn on more power.
"Wait! Hold on a minute!" cried Dick, leaning forward at the sound of
the other lad's voice, and a sight of his face in the gleam of an
electric lamp. "How are you, Tim Muldoon?"
For a moment the other stared at the well-dressed youth in the taxicab,
for the vehicle had come to a stop. Then over the features came a look
of glad surprise.
"Why, if it isn't Mr. Hamilton!" cried the lad in the street. "Who'd
ever think to see you here? How are you, Mr. Hamilton?"
"Make it Dick, if you don't mind, Tim," suggested the millionaire's son.
"I'm Dick and you're Tim," and the wealthy lad reached out and shook
hands with the lad, whom he had once befriended as a "fresh-air kid,"
and who, later, he had set up in the newspaper business. Tim Muldoon, a
typical New York newsboy, had accompanied Dick on a trip out west, to
inspect a gold mine, and had been instrumental in aiding him. Our hero
had not seen his protégé in some time, though he knew him at once when
the auto so nearly ran him down.
"Well, well, Tim," went on Dick. "What have you been doing with yourself
since last we met? You've have grown considerable. Is the paper business
good?"
"Fine, thanks to the start you gave me, Mr. Ham--I mean Dick. I'm
running three stands now, and I have two assistants. I get time to go
to night school, now, and I'm studying bookkeeping."
Dick had noticed that Tim spoke better language than formerly, for the
use of "dis," "dat," "youse" and kindred expressions was almost entirely
eliminated from his conversation.
"Where are you going now, Tim?" asked Dick, when they had exchanged some
remarks.
"Home. I've just finished work. Have to get ready for the early morning
papers soon, though, so I'm bound for home."
"No, you're not!" exclaimed the rich youth. "You're coming to have
something to eat with me. It's lonesome dining alone. Come on, hop in
and we'll be there in no time. Then I'll run you up home in this
buzz-wagon."
"But, Dick, I haven't any decent clothes on. I've been working and----"
"Nonsense! What do I care about clothes? Get in. We'll hire a private
room if you're so afraid some one will see you."
"It isn't that, only you----"
"Don't you worry about me; get in."
Tim complied, rather diffidently, and the much-wondering chauffeur
started the car again. As it went along there was another closely
following it, and, as the vehicle containing Dick and Tim made various
turns and twists through the different streets, to reach the restaurant,
the other taxicab did the same. Finally Tim, whose life in New York had
made him quick-witted along certain lines, leaned out of the open cab,
looked back and said:
"Any of your friends in that machine, Dick?"
"Friends? No. Why?"
"Because it's sticking to us like court-plaster. Say, sport," and Tim
leaned forward to the chauffeur, "are you wise to de--I mean _the_ fact
that we're being chased?"
"Hadn't noticed it," replied the driver, shortly.
"Well, we are. Is it a fly-cop; or has your license expired?"
"Search me," was the characteristic reply of the chauffeur. "But we'll
give 'em a run for their money," and increasing speed, he turned first
down one street and up another until, after five minutes' run, the other
cab was not in sight.
"We either lost 'em, or else they got wise and dropped back," was Tim's
opinion. "But who were they, Dick?"
"I can't imagine, unless they are some cranks who like to look at a chap
because he has a little money. Maybe they're fellows who hope to work me
for some game like Colonel Dendon did, when he tried to sell me fake
mining shares. I've noticed a couple of men who kept rather close watch
on me once or twice to-day, but I guess we've lost track of them. Well,
here we are; come in and have a good meal."
Dick paid, and dismissed the chauffeur, for other taxicabs could be
summoned at the restaurant. As the young millionaire and Tim entered
the place another machine came to a stop near the curb, a short distance
away.
"Thought they'd fool us, didn't they, Sam?" asked one of the two men who
alighted from it.
"They sure did, but it isn't so easy to lose us. We're right after him."
"You're not going to attempt anything to-night, are you?"
"No, I just want to get the lay of things. I think we can work the
racket better from a boat-end, as he'll fall easier for that; so we'll
wait a couple of days. We've got lots of time, and the graft is too good
to shorten up," after which rather enigmatical words, the two men
sauntered past the restaurant, inside of which Dick and Tim could be
seen seated at a table.
The two friends--friends in spite of the differences in their
stations--had a jolly time over their meal, Dick telling Tim something
about the proposed yachting trip, and the newsboy, in turn, relating
some of his experiences in the great city. True to his promise, Dick
insisted on taking Tim home in another auto, which he summoned, and
then, rather later than he was in the habit of turning in, the young
millionaire sought his hotel well satisfied with his evening's pleasure.
"Well, he's safe for to-night, anyhow," remarked one of two men, as they
saw Dick pass through the hotel lobby. "Now we can get some sleep." They
had resumed their shadowing from the restaurant.
"Yes, and we'll try the game to-morrow, or next day," responded the
other.
Dick's first visit after breakfast was to the office of Mr. Blake, the
lawyer. The attorney was not in, but a clerk informed the young
millionaire that matters concerning the purchase of the _Albatross_ were
proceeding satisfactorily. It would take several days, Dick was told.
"Well, the best thing I can do is to amuse myself," he remarked, as he
left the lawyer's office. He strolled back to the hotel, intending to
take a bath, and don a new suit he had just received from the tailor. As
he went up to the desk to get the key of his room, the clerk handed him
a letter, with the remark:
"Messenger left that for you a little while ago, Mr. Hamilton."
Dick read it hastily. It said:
"DEAR MR. HAMILTON: I am trying to hurry along matters concerned
with the purchase of your yacht. I have seen the present owners,
but there appears to be a slight hitch, to use a nautical term. I
have another vessel in view, in case we can not get the one you
want. I expect to be aboard her this morning. Could you meet me on
her? She is the _Princess_, and is anchored off One Hundred and
Eightieth Street. Suppose you run up there? You will find a launch
at the dock to bring you out. I think, in case we can not secure
the _Albatross_, that you will like this vessel fully as well. Come
if you can.
"Yours sincerely,
"JAMES BLAKE."
"Can't get the _Albatross_!" thought Dick, in dismay. "That will be too
bad! I'll never care for any other yacht as I did for her. But I suppose
I'd better go and see Mr. Blake. Queer, though, that they didn't tell me
in the office how things were. Maybe they didn't know, or this may have
cropped up after I left. I'll go and see the other boat, anyhow."
Dick started for the anchorage of the _Princess_, and, as he was about
to engage a taxicab, he bethought himself of the old sailor on the
_Albatross_.
"Widdy would be just the one to take along," reasoned Dick. "He knows
all about yachts--more than either Mr. Blake or myself. I've a good
notion to go get him, and see what he has to say. Even if we do have to
take a different craft from the _Albatross_, I'd like Widdy to sail with
me. I'll go get him."
The old sailor, who knew nothing of the hitch in the arrangements to
sell the yacht he was on, was a bit surprised at Dick's proposition, but
readily agreed to accompany him. He left one of his on-shore
acquaintances in charge of the _Albatross_.
"But as fer findin' as good a boat as that," said Widdy, waving his hand
toward her, as he and Dick were speeding shoreward in a motor launch,
"you can't do it. Split my lee scuppers if you can!"
And Dick, with a sigh, agreed with him. His heart was set on the
_Albatross_.
At the foot of One Hundred and Eightieth Street Dick and the old sea dog
found a small motorboat in waiting.
"Is this the launch of the _Princess_?" asked Dick of the man in charge.
"No, it's a public launch, but I can take you out to her in it. There's
the yacht, out there. A gentleman on board told me he was expecting a
visitor, and I said I'd wait around and bring him out. Are you the one?"
"I expect so," answered the young millionaire, and his eyes were taking
in the details of the yacht _Princess_. He did not like her, at first
view. She was too small, and there was none of that trimness about her
which marked the _Albatross_.
"That's nothing but a dinghy with an engine in her," was the
contemptuous remark of Widdy, as he relighted his short pipe, which was
assuming a black hue, like unto the one he had smashed on deck.
"Well, we'll go aboard," decided Dick. "I want to hear what Mr. Blake
has to say."
A few minutes later he and the old salt were ascending the accommodation
ladder of the _Princess_. They were met by a sailor in uniform.
"You'll find him below," he said to Dick, without being asked any
questions, and he motioned to an after companionway. Dick started down.
Had he but known it the young millionaire was entering the trap set for
him.