CHAPTER X MR. WARDELL'S CONFESSION
The tableau which presented itself to the view of Mr. Larabee showed Mr. Hamilton gazing at Dick, and our hero, with a strange expression on his face, looking at his father. He was wondering just how much his uncle had overheard.
"Can't sleep; eh?" repeated Mr. Hamilton, after a pause.
"No, that dog of Nephew Richard's makes such a noise. Can't he be sent farther off?"
"I—I'll have Grit taken away, Uncle Ezra," promised Dick, quickly. "I'll attend to it right away. I'm sorry he annoyed you."
"Huh!" snorted the visitor. "I never could see the use of dogs, anyhow. They eat 'most as much as humans, and never do any work."
"They keep tramps away," said Dick, in defense of his pet.
"Huh! A good shotgun near the door, where a tramp can see it, beats all your dogs, and it don't cost anythin' either," declared Mr. Larabee, with a sniff of disdain. "One charge of powder—not too much—and a little salt and pepper, will do for a whole season of tramps. You don't have to shoot the gun off, you know," he explained. "Sometimes one load will do for several seasons, and think of the money you save."
"I'd rather have Grit," said Dick, simply.
"Sittin' up rather late; aren't you, Mortimer?" went on Mr. Larabee, who was attired in a faded dressing gown, rather too short for him. It showed his lean legs, the feet encased in ancient slippers, which, Uncle Ezra boasted, had lasted him many years.
"I seldom go to bed early," spoke the millionaire.
"But it's late for Nephew Richard," went on the old man. "Growin' boys should be a-bed early. When I was a lad we went to bed soon after sundown—we had to, for we had to git up at four o'clock to milk. But the present generation has it too easy—they're pampered too much."
"Dick and I were talking business," said Mr. Hamilton, and he glanced sharply at his brother-in-law, to see if he had overheard any of the conversation. If Mr. Larabee had done so, he showed no signs of it.
"Business!" he exclaimed. "Wa'al, of course that's a good thing if Nephew Richard profits by what he hears. I hope he does. But I've lost considerable sleep over that pesky dog. I wish you'd attend to him."
"I will!" exclaimed Dick, hurrying out to the stable. "I guess Grit hasn't done much sleeping, either," he murmured, "not while he knew Uncle Ezra was in the house, anyhow. I don't see why he has to be so mean—Uncle Ezra, I'm thinking of," went on Dick, reflectively. "I suppose it comes natural, but it isn't very pleasant.
"There's that Mr. Wardell—he's practically ruined him, just on account of a greed for money, when he's already got more than he knows what to do with. Well, I'm going to help that young fellow if I can—I'm going to try to help him get back his fortune. I know how I'd feel if I lost mine—especially by some trick like this.
"Yes, I'll get in touch with him, and see if we can't beat Uncle Ezra at his own game. Come on, Grit," he went on, speaking to the dog, who vainly tried to break his chain the quicker to get near Dick. "You've got to go into exile for the rest of the night, anyhow, all on account of Uncle Ezra. I'm sorry, but it has to be, old man."
Caressing his dog, Dick took him to a distant tool house in the garden, far enough off so that should Grit bark or whine Mr. Larabee would not hear him. The dog whimpered a bit when Dick went away, but soon accustomed himself to the new situation.
"To-morrow I'll write to Mr. Wardell," decided Dick, as he rejoined his father, Mr. Larabee having gone back to his room. Mr. Hamilton approved of this plan, and Dick went to bed to dream of saving the fortune of an unfortunate man, and shooting across country in his big touring car.
"I'll sort of combine business with pleasure," remarked the youth next morning, as he arose and recalled his dream.
The letter to Mr. Wardell having been written, Dick and his two chums took the new car out for a spin. Mr. Hamilton consented to be driven to the railroad depot in it, as he had to go to a distant city on some business. Mr. Larabee, who was going back to Dankville, much to the satisfaction of Dick, refused an invitation to try out the Last Word.
"Trust myself in that? Never!" he exclaimed. "I'd as soon think of riding on a fire engine. You mark my words, Nephew Richard, you'll come to grief in that car yet. It's too big and heavy."
"It has to be, for what I want of it," replied our hero. "I'm going to cross the continent in it, and sometimes we may be stuck where there are no hotels. In that case we'll have a hotel with us."
"Oh, the sinful shame and waste of money!" cried Uncle Ezra, dolefully shaking his head.
Dick and his chums, with Grit as a mascot, had a fine ride for a considerable distance out into the country and back. The car behaved perfectly, and Dick found she had more speed than he had suspected. The luxury of it appealed to the three young men, and they were looked on with envious eyes as they sped along the broad highways.
Dick posted his letter to Mr. Wardell, and then there was nothing to do but await an answer. Paul and Innis planned to go to their homes, to arrange for the long trip with Dick, and were to return to Hamilton Corners in about a week. In the meantime the young millionaire would perfect his plans for the continental tour.
There was considerable to be done in the way of laying out a route, and arranging to communicate with his father at certain points. Also Dick wanted to have plenty of time to aid Mr. Wardell in recovering his fortune.
"And I've got to do it without Uncle Ezra knowing anything about it," decided Dick. "If he found it out he might find a way, law or no law, to prevent us from filing that protest in time. Oh, I've got to be as foxy as Uncle Ezra himself." But Dick little realized the resourcefulness of his relative.
A few days after Dick's chums had gone to their homes, when the former was wondering when he would hear from the man whose car he had purchased, Gibbs came to him in the library one afternoon with the information that a visitor wanted to see Dick.
"Bring him in here," he requested the butler. "Oh, hello, Mr. Wardell!" Dick exclaimed when he saw who his caller was. "I'm real glad to see you. I was getting ready to come on to New York and meet you, as soon as you sent me word."
"Were you, indeed? I thought I had better take a run up here, though, as I haven't any permanent address in New York at present. I haven't my plans made, and I may go away at any time. But I am curious to know what good news you have to tell me," for Dick had not given the particulars in his letter. "I don't see how there can be any good news for me any more," went on Mr. Wardell, rather despondently.
"Well, there is," said Dick, simply. "What would you say if I told you there was a chance to get back your fortune?"
"I'd say, I'm afraid, that you were dreaming."
"I never was more wide awake. Listen," and Dick quickly related the gist of what he and his father had talked over.
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Wardell. "If the papers are filed in time I can save my fortune?"
"That's about it. Can you arrange to file them?"
"I can, I think—no, by Jove! Dick, I can't, either. At least I'm afraid I can't. I'll tell you how I'm fixed. I am about to go to South America for a mining concern. It's a good opening, and it's too good to turn down. I can make my living at it, and in time I may get rich by it. It's a bird in the hand, and it's worth two in the bush, where my former fortune seems to be at present. I don't see how I can go out to San Francisco and to South America, too. And yet I would like to get back my fortune, for I am beginning to believe that it wasn't taken from me altogether fairly."
"We won't go into that now," spoke Dick. "But can you arrange with your lawyer to furnish the necessary papers?"
"Yes. I guess Mr. Tunison would do that for me, even if I can't pay his regular fee. He's done enough business for our family in the past. But, look here, Mr. Hamilton, what good will the papers do me when I can't go to San Francisco to file them? At least, I don't think I ought to give up a certain, sure thing for one that's only a chance. I can't file the papers after I get them."
"Well, then, I can!" cried Dick.
"You can? What do you mean?"
"I mean that my chums and I are going to take a tour to California. I can combine business with pleasure, and file those papers for you. If I can do it in time, you'll get a chance to recover your fortune."
"And will you do that for me?"
"I certainly will!"
Mr. Wardell clasped Dick's hand in a hearty grasp.
"Look here, old man," he said feelingly, "you've done too much for me already."
"Oh, pshaw! I haven't done anything worth mentioning!" exclaimed Dick, who disliked having a fuss made over him. "I bought your car as much for myself as to help you out of a hole."
"Oh, it isn't that I mean!" cried Mr. Wardell, quickly. "Dick, I've a confession to make. You may not know it, but you saved my life that day on the railroad tracks."
"Saved your life?"
"Yes, I was down and out! I didn't see a thing to live for, and I wasn't going to look for a reason. I was going to cash in when you and your chum came along, and I didn't have the nerve to do what I was going to do—shuffle off this mortal coil. You saved my life, Dick Hamilton, and now you are going to save my fortune for me. You're doing too much!" and the visitor seemed much affected.