GRIT ROUTS UNCLE EZRA
"There's a man out in the vestibule who wants to see you, Master Dick,"
said Gibbs, the butler, one evening, a few days before the time of
departure to the academy.
"Who is it?"
"Captain Handlee."
"Tell him to come in." Dick knew Captain Handlee as an old soldier, who
lived in a tumble-down house on the outskirts of the village. The
veteran, escorted by the butler, entered shyly. Dick greeted him kindly,
and the old man began almost abruptly:
"Did you ever hear that I had a son?"
"No, I never knew that. Where is he?"
"That is what I want you to help me to find out."
"You want me to help you? Why, how can I?" asked Dick.
"I don't know that you can. I only hope so. Will you?"
"I will do all I can for you, but perhaps you want to see my father,"
for Dick had an idea that the old man wanted some money for some
purpose.
"No, I want to see you, Mr. Dick. You see you are going to a military
academy, and that is why I think you can help me."
"But I don't understand."
"Listen, and I will tell you. As you know, I am an old soldier, but few
persons around here know that my only son was a soldier, too."
"I certainly did not. I never knew that you had a son."
"Well, I did, and he was a fine chap, too. He enlisted in the regular
army, where I served my time, but for many years I have heard nothing
about him."
"What happened?"
"He was among the missing after his company was sent to quell an
uprising among the Indians, out west, many years ago. No word was ever
received from him, and I don't know whether he was killed, or taken
captive. I never heard anything about him, and now I think you can aid
me in locating him."
"But how can I?"
"By making inquiries at the military academy."
"But it is not likely that any one at Kentfield would know of your son."
"They might. When your father told me you were going there, he mentioned
that Major Franklin Webster, a retired army officer, was in charge of
military tactics at the school. Now Major Webster is an old Indian
fighter, and I thought that if you asked him, he might be able to get
some news of my son. Will you do this for me?"
"I will, gladly, but I have not much hope of the result."
"Perhaps it will amount to nothing," said the old soldier with a sigh,
"but it is the first chance I have had in many years. All my inquiries
of the war department resulted in nothing. Perhaps you may have better
luck."
"I hope so," replied Dick gently. "I will make some inquiries. What is
your son's name?"
"He was christened William, but his friends in the army called him
Corporal Bill."
"How would Major Webster know him?"
"Oh, easily enough. I have his picture."
The veteran drew a faded photograph from his pocket, and held the card
so that Dick could see it. "That's him," said the old man proudly.
The young millionaire saw the photograph of a youthful soldier in
uniform.
"Your son would be much older than that now; wouldn't he, Captain
Handlee?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I think he must have been injured in some way, and
forgotten his name. Otherwise he would have written to me. But I know
another way in which you could recognize him."
"How?"
"He was the best shot in his company. He was a sharpshooter, and one of
the finest. So if you can get track of a soldier, who is a good shot,
that may be my son, Corporal Bill. Will you try?"
"I will, Captain, I'll do my best."
"God bless you," said the veteran fervently. "And now I'll leave you.
I'd let you take this photograph, only it's--it's all I have to
remember--my son by," and his voice choked.
"I don't believe I'll need that," answered Dick. "I'll speak to Major
Webster, and see what I can do."
The old soldier, murmuring his thanks, left the house.
"Well," mused Dick, as he went to his room, "I'll soon be at Kentfield.
It'll be lonesome, at first, I expect, but the cadets will soon arrive.
And I'll try to find the captain's son.
"I wonder how I'll make out with the cadets? I don't see why I should
have any trouble making friends, or becoming popular, no matter if I am
a millionaire, and the son of one. Money ought not to make such a
difference. Still, as dad says, I may find it a handicap."
He looked around the room where he had spent so many pleasant hours. It
was an ideal boy's apartment, with everything the most exacting youth
could desire.
"I think I'll make out all right," Dick mused on. "But if worst comes to
worst, I have a plan up my sleeve which I think will work." His eyes
sparkled, and it was evident that he had just thought of some scheme.
"That ought to do it," he said, speaking half aloud. "If I can't win any
other way, I'll try that."
"Well, Dick," remarked his father, the next morning, "I suppose you are
all ready to go to Kentfield?"
"Yes. I've got everything packed. What will be your address on the other
side?"
"Oh, yes, I must leave you that. Here it is. You can forward me letters
in care of my London bankers, and they will see that I get them. I may
have to put in some time on the continent. By the way, Dick, I hear that
Captain Handlee called to see you last night."
"Yes, he wants me to help him locate his missing son," and Dick told his
father of the interview with the old soldier.
"Poor man," remarked Mr. Hamilton, shaking his head, "I fear there is
little hope for him. I once aided him in making some inquiries, but they
came to nothing."
"Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes, I have often aided him, and I would do more for him, but he is
too proud to accept charity. He is rather odd at times, and does not
remain at any employment long, or I could give him a good place. His
whole mind is set on finding his son. If the missing corporal could be
located it would be the making of Captain Handlee, for he would settle
down then."
"I don't suppose I can help him."
"No, I'm afraid not. Still, do all you can. It is barely possible that
Major Webster, or some of the officers who are stationed at Kentfield,
may be able to put you on the track, but I doubt it. Well, I think I'll
have to go down to the bank now. I'll see you to-night, and say good-bye
in the morning."
Not long after Mr. Hamilton had left, and while Dick was in his room,
packing some of his belongings, a maid who was new in the house came to
inform him that a visitor was in the library.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"I don't know, but it's someone, Master Dick, who your dog doesn't like,
for he's growling something fierce."
"I'll come down," said the young millionaire, and he hurried to the
library. As he entered a tall, thin man, with a curious little bunch of
whiskers on his chin, arose.
"Well, I must say, Nephew Richard," he began, in a rasping voice, "that
this is a nice reception for me. Your horrible beast nearly bit me. The
house is no place for dogs."
"I'm sorry that Grit annoyed you, Uncle Ezra," said Dick as he
recognized the miserly man whom he had once visited.
"Hum!" grunted the old man. "If I hadn't stood on a chair he would have
bit me, and then I'd get hydrophobia, and die. Your father would have
had to pay damages, too."
"I'm glad no such thing as that happened, Uncle Ezra."
"Hum! Where's your father?"
"Down to the bank. I can telephone, and let him know that you are here."
"It isn't necessary. No need of wearing out the wires that way. I can
wait. I hear he has some foolish notion of sending you to a military
school."
"I am going to a military academy, Uncle Ezra, in accordance with my
mother's wishes."
"Stuff and nonsense! A wicked waste of money! The ordinary schools were
good enough for me, and they ought to be good enough for you. It's a
sinful waste of money. Mortimer Hamilton ought to be ashamed of himself.
The money ought to go to the heathen. It's foolish."
"My father doesn't think so," replied Dick as quietly as he could,
though he was fast becoming angry at the dictatorial tone of his crabbed
uncle.
"Hum! Much he knows about it! The idea of putting such ideas into boys'
heads as fighting and killing. Hu!"
"But it might be useful in case of war."
"Stuff and nonsense! It's positively wicked, I tell you. I've come to
remonstrate with Mortimer about it. If he has to go to Europe, which is
another waste of money, he could leave you with me. I'd bring you up in
the way you should go. There's no nonsense about me, nor my wife,
either. If your father consents to having you come to my place, you'll
learn more than you would at any military academy. Stuff and nonsense!
Don't talk to me! I know!"
Dick could not repress a shudder as he thought of his uncle's gloomy
home in Dankville, a house amid a clump of fir trees, so dark, so quiet
and so lonesome that it reminded him of a vault in the cemetery.
"I think my father has made up his mind to send me to the military
academy," said the boy.
"Well, perhaps I can make him change his mind. He doesn't know what's
good for boys."
How Uncle Ezra Larabee could understand what lads needed, never having
had any sons of his own, was more than Dick could fathom, but he said
nothing.
"I'll wait and see your father," went on the crabbed man.
"I can get my automobile and take you to the bank," suggested Dick.
"No, you might burst a tire, and that would cost something to fix."
Dick could hardly repress a smile at the idea of a possible injured tire
standing in the way of an auto ride.
"What's that girl walking back and forth so much for in the next room?"
asked Uncle Ezra suddenly.
"That's the maid, clearing away the breakfast things."
"Hum! She'll wear the carpet out," commented the old man. "I must speak
to Mortimer about it. I think I'll caution her now."
He rose, to do this, but accidentally stepped on one of Grit's legs, as
the animal was reposing under a chair, where Dick had sent him to get
him out of the way. The dog let out a howl, and then a savage growl, and
made for the man he felt had purposely injured him.
"Hold him! Catch him!" cried Uncle Ezra, as he sprang away. "Hold him,
Nephew Richard!"
"Grit!" called Dick. "Come here!"
But the dog refused to mind. Growling and snarling, he ran after Uncle
Ezra. The latter did not stop to speak to the maid about wearing out the
carpet. Instead he kept on to the front hall, and to the entrance door,
which was, fortunately, open. Down the steps, three at a time, jumped
Mr. Larabee, the dog close behind him.
But, by this time Dick had caught up to his pet, and grasped him by the
collar.
"Grit! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" he asked, but he could hardly
keep from smiling, while, as for Grit, he nearly wagged off his stump of
a tail, so glad was he at having routed Uncle Ezra.
"I'll go down and see your father at the bank!" cried the excited man,
turning when he was safely on the sidewalk. "The idea of having a
savage beast like that in the house. I'll see Mortimer and make him
change his plans. And I tell you one thing, Nephew Richard, if you come
to live with me you'll have to get rid of that bulldog," and, angrily
shaking his head, Uncle Ezra tramped down the street, walking slowly to
save shoe leather, though he was a very rich man.
"I hope dad doesn't allow himself to be influenced by Uncle Ezra,"
thought Dick, as he went back into the house with the dog. "We never
could stand it at Dankville; could we, Grit?" And the animal whined as
if he understood.