A MATTER OF BUSINESS
“That’s the talk!” cried Harry. “For all we know, he may be a tool of
this Tom Mason.”
“Say, Harry, what are you going to become, a detective?” queried Bart,
with a grin. “First thing you know, you’ll be on the New York force.”
“Never mind, it’s a good idea,” broke in Link. “Joel Runnell said the
fellow acted suspicious-like.”
“The Dickerson farm isn’t much out of our way, so it won’t do any harm
to stop there,” remarked Fred.
Now that the sun was getting lower in the west, it was not so hot
riding and, refreshed by their rest at the cottage, the five youths
made good time over the hills leading to the Dickerson farm, which was
less than a quarter of a mile up a side road midway between Cresco and
Brookside.
They found Henry Dickerson and his wife in the barnyard, milking the
cows. The farmer often came to the Lakeport stores for supplies and
knew the Westmore boys and Fred fairly well.
“Hullo, lads, what can I do for you?” he asked, pleasantly, as he set
down his milking pail.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Dickerson,” replied Joe,
and without preliminaries spoke about the man who had stopped at the
Runnell cottage.
“Oh, yes, I remember that chap,” answered Henry Dickerson. “He was
agent for a new kind of plow. He wanted to sell me one the worst way,
but I told him my old plows were good enough for me.”
“What was his name?” asked Harry.
“I forget his name. But he left his card. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll get
it for you.” And the farmer did so.
“Lamar Chase,” said Joe, after reading the name. “Representing the
Double Weld Plow Company, Springfield.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that chap!” cried Bart. “Why, he used to be located
in Brookside--had a small hardware shop there.”
“Yes, I remember now,” returned Joe. “He gave it up two or three years
ago.”
“Yes, and let me tell you something more,” cried Link. “He used to be
in the same building where Mr. Thomas Mason had his office.”
“Anything wrong with that chap?” questioned Henry Dickerson, curiously.
“Oh, we only wanted to find out who he was,” answered Joe. He handed
back the card, after noting the man’s address. “Much obliged. We’ll
have to get home, for it is late.” And in another minute the five boys
were off.
“That man came from Springfield!” cried Harry, when they were out of
hearing of the Dickersons.
“Exactly!” returned his brother. “Boys, I feel sure of one thing: This
Mr. Lamar Chase knows Mr. Mason. He knew him in Brookside years ago and
now he is located in Springfield, directly across the street from the
Springfield Novelty Manufacturing Company. His location is 52 River
Street and the novelty company’s address is 49 to 53--just on the other
side.”
“And he knows Mr. Akers,” added Fred.
“I’m going to investigate some more, when I get to Springfield,” went
on the elder Westmore boy.
The lads put on a burst of speed, and while riding hard but little talk
was indulged in. Soon they reached Brookside, and just as the town
clock tolled out the hour of seven they came in sight of home.
“I wish you’d come over to our house to-night, Fred,” said Joe. “And
ask your father if he won’t come, too.”
“All right, I’ll do it,” responded the stout youth.
While eating supper the Westmore boys told their father of all that had
happened. Mr. Westmore was deeply interested.
“I don’t know much about Mason, excepting that he is reported to be
rather close-fisted,” he said. “But I do know this Lamar Chase--and Mr.
Rush knows him even better. They once bought some hardware supplies
together, and Chase didn’t pay his part of the bill and it gave Mr.
Rush a good deal of trouble.”
A little later Fred and his father appeared, and all sat down in the
Westmore sitting-room to discuss the situation.
“Lamar Chase is a trickster,” said Mr. Rush. “He caused me no end of
trouble in that hardware deal. And I know that he and Thomas Mason are
well acquainted, and both have something to do with that Springfield
Novelty Company. It is quite possible that Chase is aiding Mason to get
the better of this Andrew Akers.”
“My opinion is, this Mr. Akers ought to hire a first-class lawyer to
protect his interests,” said Mr. Westmore. “It is a mistake to leave
it to you boys.”
“Well, he asked us to go to Springfield for him,” answered Joe. “He has
no use for lawyers, any more than he has for doctors or a hospital. I
think myself he is a queer man; but I think we are bound to respect his
wishes.”
“Oh, it won’t hurt for the boys to go to Springfield,” said Mr. Rush.
“They can take that letter and probably get as much information as
anybody could.”
“Very well, they shall go,” answered Mr. Westmore. “But be sure and
keep out of trouble.”
The morning train for Springfield left at quarter of eight and long
before that hour Joe and Fred were ready for the trip. Joe had the
letter that had been signed by Andrew Akers, offering his stock in the
novelty company to Mr. Westmore. The boys purchased excursion tickets
to the city and then waited impatiently for the train to come along.
There were less than a dozen passengers to get on, and the lads found
the cars only half filled, and so had a double seat to themselves.
“Why, say, here is news!” cried Fred, who had bought a Springfield
daily newspaper at the depot stand. “Do you remember the County Fair at
Springfield?”
“Yes, that’s no news, Fred. I don’t care for ’em much--same old cows
and pigs and horses, and pumpkins and patchwork quilts.”
“Oh, I don’t care for that myself. But the paper says that they
are going to have an added attraction, which is to take the place
of the lady lion-tamer, who is sick. They have engaged Mr. Frank
Dimity, the world-famous aviator, to give several flights in his new
hydro-aeroplane, from Crystal Lake, at the fairgrounds.”
“That’s different!” cried Joe, his face showing his interest. “A
hydro-aeroplane, eh? That’s one of the kind that can sail on the top of
the water as well as in the air. I’d like to see it.”
“So would I.”
“Will the aviator be there to-day?”
“Yes, from three to six o’clock this afternoon.”
“Then, if we get through in time, Fred, why not go out to the
fairgrounds before we go home? We can take the eight-fifteen train to
Lakeport instead of the four-forty.”
“That’s the talk!” exclaimed the stout lad, his face beaming. “I’d like
to see that chap scoot over the water and in the air.”
For the time being the business that was taking them to Springfield
was forgotten, and both lads pored over the advertisement and over the
reading account of what Mr. Frank Dimity had done in the past with his
new air and water machine.
“From this account the hydro-aeroplane isn’t so very much different
from our machine, excepting that it has air-tight pontoons under it,
instead of bicycle wheels,” remarked Fred. “There are two pontoons
under the center of the machine and a little pontoon at the far end on
either side. I suppose he drops down on the water just as our machine
drops on a level field, and he can run on the top of the water just as
our machine can run over the field before it rises in the air.”
“That’s the size of it,” returned Joe. “But I reckon a chap has got to
be careful that he doesn’t hit the water sideways, otherwise he’ll go
under. He has got to come down just as flat as a pancake.”
The run to the city occupied an hour, for the train was an
accommodation, making eleven stops. Soon the seats began to fill up,
with many folks bound for the fair.
The boys had been to Springfield before, both by train and in the
automobile, so they did not feel strange when they alighted at the
depot. They soon found out where River Street was located, down in the
factory district.
“It’s a little bit early yet,” said Joe, consulting his watch. “Perhaps
we had better walk around a little before we call at the office of the
novelty company. The man in charge of the office may not be there. Some
of these rich men don’t get to work until ten o’clock or after.”
“Oh, I guess we’ll find somebody there,” answered Fred. “If not, we can
sit down and wait.”
A ten-minutes’ walk brought them in front of the big factory building
occupied by the Springfield Novelty Manufacturing Company, as announced
by the big sign across the front of the structure. At one end were
the offices. Looking through a window the lads saw two young clerks
standing at a tall desk writing in some books. At a stand in a corner
was a young lady at a typewriter. On the other side of the office a
portly man sat back in a chair, reading a newspaper. His feet were up
on a desk, and he was evidently taking his ease.
“That man must be the manager,” said Joe to his chum. “Come ahead.” And
he braced himself for the coming interview.
As they entered, Fred purposely shut the door rather hard, so as to
attract the attention of the man who was reading. He dropped the
newspaper and looked at the visitors inquiringly. The young lady at the
typewriter arose and came towards him.
“What is it you wish?” she asked.
“I would like to see the office manager,” answered Joe.
“The office manager? Do you mean Mr. Mason?”
“Is he the manager here?”
“He is the general manager, yes.”
“Then I’d like to see him, if he is here.”
“What do you want?” demanded the portly man at the low desk, without
making any movement to arise. Both boys noticed that his face had a
shrewd, hard look on it.
“Are you Mr. Mason, the manager?” asked Joe.
“I am.”
“Then I’d like to see you on business, Mr. Mason.”
“What is it?”
“I came to see you about some stock in this concern, now owned by Mr.
Andrew Akers.”
“What’s that?”
The words were uttered quickly, as if Mr. Mason had been taken very
much by surprise. His feet came to the floor with a bang and he hurried
over to where Joe and Fred stood.
“I said I had come to see you about some stock in this manufacturing
company that is now owned by Mr. Andrew Akers. He has offered the stock
to my father, and I wish to get some particulars about it.”
“Um! Ah!” muttered Thomas Mason, and for the moment he looked very much
disturbed. “If you--er--want to see me about our stock, please step
into my office.” And he pointed to a side apartment, separated from the
main office by a ground-glass partition reaching to the ceiling.
The two boys followed him into the other office and he motioned them to
chairs. Then he closed the door carefully and confronted them.
“Now, then, what did you say?” he asked, of Joe, although the Westmore
boy had told him twice.
“I came to see about the twelve thousand dollars’ worth of stock that
Mr. Akers owns in this concern,” answered Joe. “He has offered it to my
father, and I want to find out how this concern stands and if it would
be a good investment.”
“Humph! Who are you?”
“I am Joe Westmore, of Lakeport. My father is Horace Westmore, the
flour and feed dealer.”
“Oh, yes, I know him,” and Thomas Mason nodded slowly. “And who are
you?” he asked, turning to Fred.
“I am Fred Rush, also of Lakeport.”
“Oh, yes, that Rush boy! Your father is in the hardware business, isn’t
he?”
“Yes.”
“Humph!” Thomas Mason dropped into a chair in front of a big roll-top
desk. “Well, let us come to business. Let me see that certificate of
stock that this Andrew Akers claims to own.”