AT THE FAIRGROUNDS
Joe had been afraid this question would be asked, and he was,
therefore, prepared for it.
“I didn’t bring the certificate with me,” he said. “My father said it
wouldn’t be necessary--that you had the record of the stock on the
books.”
“Hum! Well, what do you want to know?”
“My father would like to know something of the way business is running,
and all that,--and he also wants to know if that stock is free and
clear.”
“You can’t expect me to open our books to you, a stranger,” cried
Thomas Mason. “Our books are open to our stockholders, but not to the
general public.”
“Here is a letter from Mr. Akers to my father about the stock,” went on
Joe, producing the missive. He hardly knew how to proceed.
The general manager of the novelty company perused the communication
closely.
“When did Mr. Akers give this?” he demanded, noting that the letter was
not dated.
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday. Where is he?”
“That I cannot tell you, Mr. Mason.”
“Don’t you know?” And the portly man looked at the youth and at Fred
sharply.
“Yes, I know, but--er--I cannot tell you. If you know Mr. Akers you
know he is a strange man. At present he wishes to keep his whereabouts
a secret.”
“For what purpose?”
“That is his business.”
“Is it? Well, the running of this company is my business. I have
nothing to tell you.”
“Won’t you tell me if that stock is free and clear? My father doesn’t
want to buy stock that isn’t fully paid for.”
“If Mr. Akers has stock in this concern the certificate will show if it
is paid for or not.”
“Well, he has the stock, hasn’t he?”
“I don’t know--I’d have to look up the records, and I am not going
to do that just now. If he has the stock his certificate will show
it, and also show if it is paid for in full, and also whether it
has been transferred or not. We have in all two hundred thousand
dollars’ worth of stock out and I do not keep a personal list of our
stockholders--that is on our records. As for this business, we are
doing nicely and our stock is worth par, if not more.”
“How long has Mr. Akers held this stock?” asked Fred, after a short
pause.
“I haven’t said that he owns any stock,” snapped back Thomas Mason.
“As a matter of fact, I do not remember seeing his name in the list
of stockholders. But of course, if he has a certificate, he must own
the stock, and the records will show it. Tell your father to bring
the certificate and I will look the matter up and give him all the
information I can. Now you boys will have to excuse me, for I have many
matters of importance to attend to.” And the general manager of the
novelty company drew himself up as if to close the interview.
“Then you won’t look up this record for us?” asked Joe, as he backed to
the door.
“No--not until you bring me that certificate. Then I’ll be assured that
you and Mr. Akers really mean business and I’ll do what I can for you.”
And thus speaking Thomas Mason bowed them out of his private office and
turned his back on them.
Joe and Fred felt that they had been beaten--that they had failed to
trap Mr. Mason as they had hoped to do. They wanted to remain--to
question him some more,--but he gave them no opportunity. Much
crestfallen, they left the building and walked slowly down the street.
“What do you make of it, Joe?” asked Fred, as they came to a halt on
the corner.
“He is bluffing us, Fred. He knows all about that stock.”
“Just my idea. But he wouldn’t admit that it was on the books. That
looks bad.”
“Yes, but on the other hand, he didn’t say that Mr. Akers didn’t own
the stock. Now, if he has the certificate, and wants to defraud Mr.
Akers, why didn’t he come right out, pretend to look up the records,
and then say that Mr. Akers didn’t have the stock?”
“Maybe he was afraid that we had seen the certificate before it was
stolen and that your father and Mr. Akers would demand to know how the
stock had been transferred, or something like that. I think his plan
may be to lie low and say nothing until he is sure of his ground. In
the end he may forge Mr. Akers’s name to some transfer of the stock,
using the stolen certificate.”
“Yes, or else--Hello, there he is, looking after us!”
Both boys wheeled about, to behold Thomas Mason on the steps of the
factory office, gazing earnestly after them. Then they walked around
the corner.
“He’s disturbed, that’s sure,” remarked the stout youth. “I wonder
if----”
“There he goes--across the street!” cried Joe, who had turned back to
glance around the corner. “Do you know what I think? He is going over
to see that Lamar Chase. His office is opposite, if you will remember.”
Both boys watched the portly figure of the novelty company manager as
he crossed the somewhat dirty roadway. They saw him pause on a set of
steps, look up and down the street, and then disappear through an open
doorway.
“Do you know what I’ve a mind to do?” said Joe.
“Follow him?”
“Yes. Maybe we’ll learn something, Fred. Come on, it’s early yet.”
“We don’t want to get into trouble, Joe.”
“Oh, we can run for it, if we have to. Come on.”
Both boys turned back and walked swiftly towards the building into
which Thomas Mason had gone. They found an open hallway, leading to a
lower loft. A flight of steps and a freight elevator led to another
loft above, that occupied by the plow concern represented by Lamar
Chase.
“Hey, Jackson!” they heard a voice call, in the upper hallway.
“Is that you, Mr. Mason?” came back from the freight elevator.
“Yes. Is Mr. Chase in?”
“No, sir, he has gone over to the fairgrounds, to look after the
exhibit.”
“When will he be back?”
“Not to-day, sir. The man that was to be at the fairgrounds had to go
to New York, so Mr. Chase is going to take his place and see if he
can’t book some orders.”
“I see. Well, maybe I’ll go over to the fairgrounds myself,” responded
Thomas Mason, and then the boys heard him turn on a landing of the
stairs and start to come down.
“Come on!” whispered Joe, and ran noiselessly out of the building,
followed by his chum. Both paused behind a pile of packing cases on the
sidewalk and saw Mr. Mason come out and re-cross the street to his own
offices. Then they took to a side alleyway, so that they might not be
seen.
“Did you hear what he said!” cried the stout youth, excitedly.
“I did, Fred. Mr. Chase is at the fairgrounds, and Mr. Mason may call
to see him.”
“He seems rather anxious, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“But to go to the fair to see Chase!”
“Oh, he may have intended to go anyway--to see the exhibits and the
hydro-aeroplane stunts.”
“No, I think he wants to see this Lamar Chase--maybe about that stock!”
“Well, if we go we can hunt up Mr. Chase ourselves,” returned Joe.
“Let us watch for Mason and try to find out what he has to say to this
man Chase.”
“It might not do any harm to do that.”
The boys walked out of the alleyway on to one of the main streets of
Springfield, and then Fred led the way to where his aunt lived. She was
somewhat surprised to see him, but speedily made both him and his chum
feel at home.
“I thought some of you boys would come to see the fair,” said Mrs.
Powelson. “They are going to have a flying machine there. You’ll want
to see that.”
“Sure, especially as we have a flying machine of our own, Aunt Emma,”
responded Fred.
“A flying machine! You!” gasped the aunt.
“Yes;” and the stout youth gave a few of the particulars.
“Well, I never, Fred Rush! What in the world is the world coming to! Of
course you are not going to fly in it.”
“Sure we are, Aunt Emma. Some day I’ll take you up!” And Fred winked at
Joe.
“Indeed, you’ll never get me off the ground in one of those things!”
declared Mrs. Powelson, firmly. “Why, I think it is flying in the face
of Providence! If you fall you’ll be killed!”
“I don’t intend to fall.”
“That is what they all say--but they do fall, just the same.” And
shaking her head dubiously, Fred’s aunt went off to get the dinner
ready. She lived alone, being a widow.
It was a simple but well-served meal, of chicken potpie with dumplings,
and berry pie, and it is perhaps needless for me to say that the lads
ate as only hungry and growing boys can stow away food. The lady was
glad to see them enjoy the repast, and insisted upon giving each an
extra helping of chicken and a second piece of the pie.
“Certainly very nice,” murmured Joe, on arising from the table.
“I am glad you enjoyed it,” said Mrs. Powelson. “Come again--I like
company.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go to the fair with us, Aunt Emma?” asked Fred,
politely.
“No, Fred, you two boys run along alone. I am going to-morrow, with
some lady friends.”
A quarter of an hour later saw the two chums on a trolley car, bound
for the fairgrounds, which were some distance out of the city. The car
was crowded and they had to stand on the running-board, along with many
other boys and some men. Many were talking about the fair and about the
aviator who was to be there, and all hoped to see some daring flights
into space.
When the grounds were reached, the lads found a larger crowd than ever,
and they had to fairly shove their way up to one of the ticket booths,
to get the cards of admission. But once inside, they found ample room,
and they roamed around, past several exhibition buildings and tents,
and numerous refreshment stands.
“There is the lake!” cried Joe, pointing it out. “But I don’t see
anything like a flying machine.”
“It’s behind the boathouse,” said a man standing near. “They are fixing
something on it. They ain’t going to use it until half-past three
o’clock, so the man told me.”
“Then we’ve got over an hour to wait,” said Fred. “Come on, Joe, let us
look for that plow exhibit and Mr. Chase.”
Joe was willing, and together the youths strolled along, to where
some big banners announced the wares of the various farming implement
companies.
“Here is the Double Weld Plow!” cried Joe, presently. “And there is a
man talking business to several farmers. Maybe that is Mr. Chase.”
“We’ll soon find out,” answered Fred, and together they drew closer,
behind some farmers. They soon learned that the man selling plows was
Lamar Chase. He got one order for a plow, and then the crowd dispersed,
but soon another commenced to collect. Then of a sudden Joe caught Fred
by the arm.
“Get back here, behind this tent!” he whispered. “Here comes Mr. Mason!”