Dick said nothing, but the thought of a ruined man, who must have had a considerable fortune, going to work for Uncle Ezra in the woolen mill for five dollars a week, struck our hero as being rather pathetic.
"Did he take your offer, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul.
"He did not!" exclaimed Dick's uncle. "He said he'd become a tramp first. Wa'al, he kin if he wants to—there's no law ag'in' it!" and again he chuckled mirthlessly.
"I'll go see about lunch," volunteered Dick. "Oh, something for me, Toots?" he exclaimed, as he opened the door, and saw an old Sergeant standing there with an envelope in his hand.
"Yes, a letter, Mr. Hamilton."
"It's from dad!" exclaimed our hero, as he noted the writing.
"I hope he has taken my advice, and will withdraw you from this useless military academy," spoke Uncle Ezra. "It is time you went to work, Nephew Richard."
"I'll be back in a little while," replied Dick, not taking the trouble to answer his uncle directly, and he hurried off down the corridor to arrange about having his guest at luncheon in the mess hall.
While preparations for the meal are under way I shall ask for a few minutes of your time—you my new readers—while I briefly explain about Dick Hamilton, and introduce you more formally to him, as he has appeared in the previous volumes of this series.
Dick was the only son of Mortimer Hamilton, of Hamilton Corners, in New York State. Mr. Hamilton was a millionaire, with varied interests, and Dick had a fortune in his own right, left to him by his mother.