"I'll give you a ride when you get your vacation," promised Dick.
"The trouble is I never get one," replied Henry. "The old iron business, that you helped me start on such a good footing, takes all my time. Well, I must be traveling, Dick. This horse hasn't had his supper, yet, and he needs it. So long."
"So long, Henry. Come over and see me when you get a chance."
"Humph! There aren't many millionaires who would give a fellow like me such an invitation as that," remarked Henry Darby as he drove along, while Dick galloped off in the opposite direction.
Dick met several of his friends in town, and spent a pleasant hour chatting with them, before he trotted leisurely back home. He found his father reading in the library, but Uncle Ezra had gone to bed early, as he said he must take the first train for home in the morning. Mr. Hamilton did not tell his son of the peculiar words and actions of his uncle.
"Well, Dick," said Mr. Hamilton, musingly, "I suppose you'll soon be going to New York, to buy your yacht."
"Day after to-morrow, dad."
"All right. I'll give you a letter to my lawyers there, and they'll see to the transfer of the boat, and attend to the legal matters. Now, don't buy any gilt-edged mining shares, Dick," and Mr. Hamilton smiled grimly, in memory of a visit his son once paid to the metropolis, as related in the first volume of this series.
"I'll not," promised the young millionaire, and, after he and his father had spent an hour chatting in the big apartment, the walls of which were lined with many books, Dick retired to bed, Mr. Hamilton soon following.
Dick's room was over an extension to the main part of the house, and was fitted up like the "den" of any other lad, whether he has a million dollars to his credit, or only one. There were various trophies, some swords and guns, Indian relics, odds and ends of no earthly use to any one but a boy, and a few pictures. Yet, everything in it meant something to Dick, and, after all, that is the real way to decorate a "den."