Kitabı oku: «From Farm to Fortune; or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XXII
AT THE ELEVATED STATION

"Hi, stop that!" roared Rufus Cameron, making a clutch for the document. But before he could reach it Nat was at a safe distance. Our hero glanced at the paper, to make certain that it was the right one, and then put it in his pocket, and buttoned up his jacket.

"Now, Mr. Rufus Cameron, I guess we are square," said Nat, in something a tone of triumph.

"You young thief, give me back that document," cried the man, savagely.

"Not much! I am going to give it to Mr. Garwell."

"That isn't his document."

"Yes, it is."

"I say it isn't. If you don't give me the paper, I'll call a policeman."

"Do it, and I'll have you arrested for knocking me over with the sea shell and robbing me."

Rufus Cameron glared at our hero. He was baffled and did not know what to do next. Presently a crafty look came into his eyes.

"See here, you're a pretty smart boy," he said, in a calmer tone.

"Thank you for nothing."

"What is John Garwell going to give you for getting that paper?"

"Nothing—at least I don't expect anything."

"You're a fool to work for nothing," sneered Rufus Cameron. "You'll never get rich doing that."

"If I don't it will be my own affair."

"Do you understand this business at all, boy?"

"I understand some of it."

"Don't you know that John Garwell is trying to defraud my aunt out of a lot of money?"

"I certainly know nothing of the kind."

"It's a fact. I am only trying to protect my aunt's interests. She is rather queer in her head at times, and doesn't know what she is doing."

"She wasn't queer when she signed this paper."

"Yes, she was. But we will let that pass. Give me the paper, and I'll pay you handsomely for it. You can tell Garwell that you couldn't locate me."

"How much will you give?" asked Nat, although he had no intention of accepting the rascal's offer.

"I'll give you—five dollars."

"That isn't much. The paper is worth more."

"No, it isn't."

"I won't give it up for five dollars."

"Well, we'll make it ten dollars. Come, hand the paper over. It's easy money for you."

"The paper is worth every bit of a hundred dollars," said our hero, just to draw the rascal out, and learn if possible how valuable Rufus Cameron really considered the document.

"A hundred dollars! Nonsense! But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm sorry I knocked you down at my aunt's house. I'll give you twenty-five dollars."

"When will you pay me?"

"Now," and Rufus Cameron brought forth a roll of bills.

"You can keep your money, Rufus Cameron."

"Eh?"

"I wouldn't touch a penny of it. Do you know what I think? I think you are a first-class scoundrel."

"What! This to me?" stormed the fellow, shoving his money back into his pocket.

"Yes, that to you. I am sorry Mrs. Parloe has such a rascal for a relative. Now, I am going to bid you good-day." And Nat began to move away.

"Come back here, you young villain!" cried Rufus Cameron.

He made a dash for our hero, but Nat was too quick for him. The boy ran across the street and around a corner, and in a moment more was out of sight. Rufus Cameron shook his fist in impotent rage.

"The jig's up!" he muttered. "What a mess! I thought I'd get a thousand dollars out of Shanley for that paper!"

Nat did not slacken his pace until he had reached the river. Then he ran aboard a ferry boat, and journeyed thus to New York, thinking that possibly his enemy would watch the cars.

When our hero reached the office he found that the regular force of clerks had already left, but his employer was still at his desk, finishing up some business of importance.

"Hullo! you are back quickly," exclaimed John Garwell.

"Yes, sir, and there's the document," answered Nat, and placed the paper on the desk.

John Garwell stared in amazement.

"Why, how did this happen?" he queried.

"It was blind luck, I guess," said Nat, and sitting down, he told his tale.

"You certainly were lucky. So that rascal wanted to bribe you?"

"Yes. I half felt like knocking him down for it." And Nat's eyes flashed.

"It would have served him right." The real estate broker looked the document over. "Yes, this is all right." He opened the sheet. "Hullo, here is a memorandum of some kind."

The memorandum was on a sheet of plain white paper. It contained a name and address and some figures.

"Eureka!" almost shouted the real estate broker. "This is luck, truly."

"What have you found, Mr. Garwell?"

"An address I have been hunting for for over a year. Now I can put that real estate deal through without further trouble. I knew Shanley or this Cameron had that address, but, of course, they wouldn't give it to me."

"I'm glad I got it for you."

"I imagine Rufus Cameron will be very angry when he learns that he has lost this address."

"It's his own fault."

There was nothing more for Nat to do that day, so he went home, and in the evening attended the night school where he had taken up shorthand and typewriting. He was making rapid progress, and he applied himself diligently.

On the following day, John Garwell was away from the office until the middle of the afternoon, and he also went off the next morning. On his return, his face wore a satisfied look.

"Well, that thing is settled," he said, on dropping into his chair. "And what a row I did have with Mr. Andrew V. Shanley!"

"You mean about that property?" queried Nat, looking up from his work at a side desk.

"Yes. I have sold the property and got my commissions, amounting to four thousand dollars in all. Shanley was as mad as a hornet."

"Did he mention Rufus Cameron?"

"No, but I did, and told him just what a dirty sneak the fellow was. After that Shanley shut up pretty quick."

"Do you suppose Rufus Cameron can do anything more in the matter?"

"No. But he will have it in for you, Nat, I am afraid."

"Oh, I guess I can take care of myself," answered our hero, calmly.

"This Shanley has tried to trip me up several times," went on John Garwell, leaning back in his office chair. "He tries to find out what I am doing, and then he does his best to steal the business away from me."

"Maybe this will teach him a lesson."

"Possibly; but I am afraid not, Nat."

Several days passed, and Nat kept at work steadily. During that time he received a letter from his uncle, in which Abner Balberry stated that he had arrived home once more, and found everything on the farm all right.

"Uncle Abner isn't such a bad sort after all," thought Nat, "Only he ought to drop some of his miserly habits. Perhaps, now that he is married again, he will."

One day our hero had to go up to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street on an errand.

"Take an elevated train," said his employer, and handed him the necessary carfare.

It did not take Nat long to reach the elevated station. Purchasing a ticket, he dropped it in the box, and walked out on the platform.

Only a few people were present, for it was the quiet hour of the morning. Among the number was a thick-set, trampish-looking fellow, who was smoking a short clay pipe. The man was more than half intoxicated, and lurched from side to side as he walked along the platform.

"That fellow had better look out for himself," thought our hero. "If he isn't careful, he may fall out on the tracks and get hurt."

As our hero had some time to wait for a train, he passed the man several times. The face of the fellow looked familiar, and Nat wondered where he had seen him before.

"I've certainly met him somewhere," thought the boy. "But where? I don't think it was in New York."

Presently the elevated train came into sight and those on the platform prepared to get aboard when it should stop for them.

The man lurched forward as before, and of a sudden fell sprawling directly in front of the train.

CHAPTER XXIII
TOM NOLAN'S CONFESSION

A cry of horror went up from those who saw the mishap, and some women present turned their heads away, expecting that the semi-intoxicated individual would be killed.

Nat's heart leaped into his throat, but he did not lose his presence of mind. He was but a few feet from the man, and as quick as a flash he jumped forward, caught the fellow up, and dragged him out of harm's way.

"Wha—what yer doin'?" stammered the fellow, gazing unsteadily at our hero.

"Do you want to be killed?" asked Nat, sharply.

"They won't—won't dare to kill me," said the fellow. "I'm a—a—good citizen."

"He ought to be locked up," said a man standing near.

"It was a brave deed," said one of the ladies.

"Who's goin' to lock me up?" demanded the tramp, for he was nothing less. And he began to show fight, at which the majority of the crowd turned away, and hurried to board the train. Nat hesitated for a second, and then concluded to let the train go on and take the next one.

"Say, you pulled me from the track, didn't you?" said the man, after another look at Nat.

"I did."

"Noble boy. I ought to reward you."

"I don't want any reward."

"Humph! Don't worry, my dear friend—Tom Nolan ain't got no money to reward you with." And the semi-drunken man indulged in a senseless chuckle.

"See here, haven't I met you before?" demanded Nat, looking at the man more closely than ever.

"Maybe yer have, an' maybe yer haven't."

"Where do you come from?"

"Me? I'm an Ohio man, I am, and I ain't ashamed to own it. Ohio's best State in the Union."

"So you are from Ohio. Were you ever in and around Brookville and Caswell?" went on our hero, suddenly.

"Sure. I spent two months in that district not very long ago. But I had to git out, I did." And the tramp chuckled again.

"What made you get out?" And now Nat was all attention.

"Folks didn't like me around."

"Didn't you treat them fairly?"

"Sure I did, but they thought their barns was too good for Tom Nolan to sleep in."

"And that's why they chased you away, eh?"

"Thet's it, my young friend. It was this way—to tell the plain truth. One night I went to sleep in a barn with my pipe in my mouth. Fust thing I knowed some hay got afire. A man came runnin' to put the fire out, and I had to leg it to git away."

"Was that up between Caswell and Brookville?"

"You've struck it, but—but—what's this to you, anyway?" and now Tom Nolan began to look disturbed.

"It's a good deal to me. That was my uncle's barn, and I was accused of setting it on fire."

"Gee shoo! Yer don't say! Say, I've put my foot into it, ain't I?"

"You certainly have."

"But, say, honest, I—I didn't mean to set the shebang afire—not on my life, I didn't."

"You were smoking, and fell asleep."

"Thet's the honest truth o' the matter, my young friend. I'm a tramp, an' down on my luck, but I ain't no barn burner, not me!"

"Well, you had better come with me," said Nat, decidedly.

"What are yer goin' to do?"

"I want a witness to what you just said."

"Goin' to have me—me locked up?"

"No, it's not worth it. I only want to prove to my uncle that I am not guilty, that's all."

The tramp followed Nat down into the street and then over to John Garwell's office.

"Why, what does this mean, Nat?" demanded his employer, in astonishment, for visits from tramps were unusual.

Our hero lost no time in telling his story.

"I want my uncle Abner to know that I am innocent, that's all," he continued. "It won't do any good to hold this chap, for the barn wasn't hurt much, anyway."

"I'll settle this," said Mr. Garwell, and called in a stenographer, who took down what the tramp had to say. Then the confession was typewritten, and Tom Nolan signed it, and John Garwell added his signature as a witness.

"There, Nat, that is all right now," said the real estate broker. "You can send that to your uncle when you please, and we can keep a copy."

"This is all I want," said our hero to the tramp. "You may go now."

"Don't want no more o' me?" asked Tom Nolan.

"Nothing whatever."

"Say, ain't this confession good fer a quarter?"

"I'll give you a quarter if you'll promise not to spend it for drink."

"I'll promise," said the tramp, and Nat handed him twenty-five cents. Tom Nolan thanked him, and shuffled off; and that was the last our hero saw or heard of him.

"I'm sorry I lost so much time," said Nat to his employer. "But I wanted to square myself with Uncle Abner if I could."

"I don't blame you, Nat. I have no doubt it is a great worry off your mind."

"It is. Now, Uncle Abner will know I told him the plain truth."

That night Nat wrote Abner Balberry a long letter, telling of his meeting with the tramp. He enclosed the signed confession, and he had the letter registered, so that it might not get lost in the mails. A few days later came a reply, in which Nat's uncle said he remembered seeing the tramp around on the day of the fire, and stating that he was very sorry that he had ever thought his nephew guilty.

Nat's work frequently took him out of town, and on one occasion he had to go to Albany, a trip which he enjoyed thoroughly, as it gave him a chance to visit the State Capitol.

"Nat," said John Garwell one day, "didn't you once tell me, that your father and grandfather had come from New York and Brooklyn?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was your grandfather ever interested in some property around Central Park?"

"I don't know but what he was. But he got rid of his belongings, so I was told, when he moved away."

"Did you ever see any of the papers?"

"Yes, sir, some years ago. They were in a trunk up in my uncle Abner's garret."

"What was your grandfather's full name?"

"Chester Stout Nason. His mother was a Stout."

"And your father's full name?"

"William Henry Nason."

"Did he have any brothers?"

"No, sir—only a sister, who was Uncle Abner's first wife."

"I see. Are those papers still in the trunk you just mentioned?"

"They ought to be. They were packed away with some old account books—bad debts, I once heard father call them. Father had an idea he could collect some of the debts some day. But I guess they are outlawed."

"More than likely. I'd like to see those papers regarding that land near Central Park."

"Why, Mr. Garwell? Do you think there is anything in it for me?" cried our hero, quickly.

"I'm not prepared to say that until I see the papers. I am looking up six parcels of land, which a certain company want for the purpose of putting up a big hotel. Some of the old deeds mention a Chester S. Nason as holding a half-interest in one of the plots of ground—the interest being assigned to him in payment of a claim he had on one Maurice LeRoy. Did you ever hear of such a man?"

"No, sir."

"Well, supposing you get those papers for me, and let me examine them."

"Shall I send to Uncle Abner for them?"

"I think it might be better for you to go home and sort out the papers yourself. I'll explain just what I am after. Besides, if the papers are valuable, you had better not trust them to the mails. I'll pay your railroad fares."

"All right, I'll go home for them whenever you say, Mr. Garwell. I hope the papers do prove valuable," and Nat smiled broadly.

"Don't raise false hopes, Nat. There may be nothing in it. But there is nothing like being sure."

"Is the tract of land valuable?"

"Very. It is located in the most fashionable territory around Central Park."

"When do you want me to go home?"

"You can start to-morrow if you wish. There is no rush of business on just at present. I presume you will be back within four or five days?"

"I'll come back as soon as possible."

"Take your time. A couple of days on the farm will do you good. It will be like a touch of old times."

"That is true," answered Nat.

The opportunity to go back to the farm pleased him. He packed his dress-suit case that night, and left on the ten-o'clock train in the morning. He was dressed in his best and had quite a city air about him. Certainly he could no longer be called a "greeny."

Nat spent the night at Cleveland, and took the train to Brookville in the morning. Almost the first person he met in the town was Sam Price.

"Hullo, are you back?" cried the country boy, shaking hands.

"Back for a few days, Sam."

"You look fine, Nat."

"I feel fine. How are you getting along?"

"Pretty good. Life on the farm is rather slow. Somebody told me you were tired of the city."

"It isn't true, Sam."

"Fred Guff says he wants to go to the city, too, but his mother won't let him."

"I suppose Fred helps my uncle Abner?"

"Yes, but your uncle don't get along with him very well. Fred's too slow for him."

Sam had driven to town with his buckboard, and he readily agreed to give Nat a ride over to Abner Balberry's farm. They were soon on the way, and less than an hour brought them in sight of the place.

"Some young man is coming, ma!" cried Fred, who was sitting on the doorstep, munching an apple. "Sam Price is driving him."

"Wonder what he wants here?" said Mrs. Balberry, shading her eyes with her hands. "Mercy sakes! It's Nat!"

"Nat!" repeated the boy. "Huh! if it's him I guess he's sick of the city. I thought he wouldn't make a go of it."

"Don't you be too sure of that," said the mother, shortly. "Nat has more ginger in him than you have."

By this time Nat was at the horseblock. He leaped off the buckboard, and advanced to greet Mrs. Balberry and her son.

"How do you do?" he cried, cheerily. "Aren't you surprised to see me?"

"I certainly am," answered Mrs. Balberry, as she shook hands.

"Got tired of the city, eh?" came from Fred. "I knew it wouldn't last."

"Do you think you could do anything in the city?" demanded our hero, sharply.

"Of course I could."

"It's hard work to get along in New York."

"I don't care—I wouldn't make a failure of it if I went. I guess you wasn't smart enough for them New Yorkers," added Fred, maliciously.

"What makes you think that, Fred?"

"If it wasn't so you wouldn't be back."

"Have you given up your place with Mr. Garwell?" asked Mrs. Balberry.

"No, I'm home on a vacation of a couple of days, that's all."

"Oh, then you are going back?" came from Fred, and his face fell.

"Certainly I am. I have a first-class position, with a promise of advancement, so it would be sheer foolishness for me to give it up."

"Ma said you were with a real estate man."

"Yes."

"That can't pay much."

"It pays very well."

"How much?"

"Ten dollars a week, at present. But I am to get more soon."

"You don't mean to say they pay you ten dollars a week," cried Fred.

"That is my regular salary."

"Then I'm going to the city to-morrow," said Fred, decidedly.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE PAPERS IN THE TRUNK

Nat now asked for his uncle and was told that his relative was at the barn. Placing his dress-suit case in the house, he walked down to the barn. In the meantime Sam Price had driven off.

"Uncle Abner, where are you?"

"Who's thet a-callin' me?" came from the farmer, as he looked forth from one of the horse stalls.

"I've come to ask you for a job," went on Nat, lightly.

"Nat! How be you?" Abner came and shook hands. "Want a job? Is it all up in New York?"

"No, uncle, I was only fooling. I came home for a vacation of a couple of days, that's all."

"Well, you're welcome, Nat. But it must cost money to travel so far for jest two days' vacation."

"I came for another purpose, too. Do you remember those old papers in the trunk in the garret?"

"Those thet belonged to your father an' grandfather?"

"Yes. Well, I am going to look them over and see if they are of any value."

"Ain't nuthin' of any use, Nat. I looked over 'em myself, one rainy day when I didn't have nuthin' else to do."

"Mr. Garwell thinks some of them might be valuable."

"Does he know about 'em?"

"He only knows what I told him."

"The old debts is all outlawed."

"But there are other papers—something about some land grandfather had an interest in."

"I don't know nuthin' about that. It's so long ago, I don't believe they are worth a cent."

"Well, it won't do any harm to look them over, and show them to Mr. Garwell," returned our hero.

It was approaching the noon hour, and in honor of Nat's arrival, Mrs. Balberry prepared an extra good dinner, of which the boy partook freely. It was plainly to be seen that the former widow was the ruler of the house, and that she compelled Abner Balberry to be far more liberal than had been his habit in years gone by.

"Have another piece of pie, Nat," said the lady of the house, graciously.

"Thank you, but I've had enough," answered Nat.

"Better save what's left for to-morrow," suggested Abner Balberry.

"If Nat wants another piece, he shall have it," was the lady's quick answer.

"Oh, certainly! certainly!"

"Ma, I want another piece," came promptly from Fred.

"You've had two pieces already, Fred."

"I want another."

"Not to-day."

"Just a little piece!"

"Not another mouthful!" And Mrs. Balberry placed the remainder of the pie in the cupboard.

"I can't never have nothing!" cried Fred, kicking the leg of the table.

"You'll have a box on the ears, Fred Guff, if you don't behave yourself," answered his mother, and then there was silence.

After dinner, Nat talked with his uncle for a while, and then putting on an old coat, went up into the dusty garret, and hauled out the old trunk. It was strapped, but not locked, so he had no trouble in opening it.

"What are you going to do?" asked Fred, who had followed him.

"Look over some papers," answered our hero, briefly.

"Want me to help you?"

"No."

"What are you going to do with the papers?"

"Take some of them to the city with me."

"Are they yours?"

"Yes."

"Say, don't you think it would be a good plan for me to go to the city and git a job at ten dollars a week?" went on Fred, sitting down on the top garret step.

"Yes, if you could get the ten-dollar job."

"Why can't I git it? You got it."

"I was lucky, that's all, Fred. Before I got it I might have starved to death."

"Huh! Couldn't you git me a job with your boss?"

"I don't think so."

"I'm just as smart as you are, Nat Nason."

To this our hero made no reply. He had brought out some of the papers, and was looking them over with much interest.

"If you don't want to help me git a job, I'll git one on my own hook," continued Fred, who was as dull as he considered himself bright.

"Well, you have a right to do as you please," said Nat. "But please leave me alone now, Fred; I want to read these very carefully."

"Huh! I'm going to stay in the garret as long as I please."

Nat said no more, and Fred began to kick the step upon which he was sitting. Then, he began to thump on the rafters of the garret, bringing down some dirt on Nat's head.

"Stop that, Fred!" cried our hero, sharply. "Stop it, I say!"

"I ain't goin' to stop."

"If you don't stop, I'll put you downstairs, first thing you know."

"You can't do it."

"Yes, I can."

"Do you want to fight?" demanded Fred, rising and squaring off.

"No, but I want you to leave me alone."

"I ain't touched you."

"No, but you were knocking the dirt down on me. Why can't you leave me alone?"

"I've got as much right in this garret as you have, that's why."

"You are mean."

"Don't you call me mean!" blustered Fred, and coming closer, he hit Nat on the shoulder. At once our hero hit back, and Fred received a thump in the mouth that caused him to topple backwards.

"Don't!" he screamed. "Don't—don't hit me again."

"Now, are you going to leave me alone?" demanded Nat.

"I'll tell my ma on you."

"If you do, I shall tell her how you annoyed me," answered Nat.

"Come down in the barnyard and I'll fight with you," said Fred, but, as he spoke, he retreated down the stairs.

"Don't be a fool, Fred. Behave yourself, and we'll get along all right," said Nat, and then Fred passed to the lower floor, banging the stairway door after him. There was a hook on the door, and this he fastened after him.

"Now, Nat can stay in the garret till I let him out," he muttered to himself.

When left to himself, Nat dragged the old trunk to one of the windows of the garret, and then began a systematic investigation of all the papers the box contained. He soon learned that the majority of the documents were of no importance, but there were half a dozen which looked of possible value, and these he placed in his pocket. Two of the sheets referred directly to the land in New York City.

"I hope these are what Mr. Garwell is looking for," he said to himself.

Having put the trunk back where it belonged, Nat started to go below, only to find the door hooked fast from the other side.

"Fred!" he called out loudly. "Fred, open the door!"

"Ha! ha! Nat Nason, how do you like being a prisoner?" came from Fred, who had been resting on a bed in a nearby room.

"I want you to open the door."

"What will you give me if I do?"

"I'll tell you what I'll give you if you don't!" cried Nat, angrily.

"What?"

"A good thrashing."

"You can't do it."

"Are you going to open the door?"

"No."

Fred had scarcely spoken when Nat pressed on the door, and the hook flew from its fastening. As the door burst open, Nat leaped from the stairway and caught the other boy by the collar.

"Now, then, that for locking me in," he cried, and boxed Fred's ears soundly.

"Stop!" roared Fred. "Stop, Nat Nason."

"Will you behave yourself after this, and leave me alone?"

"Yes! yes!"

"Then, see that you do," went on Nat, and flung the other boy from him. Fred picked himself up in a hurry, and ran below. He vowed he would get square, but during Nat's stay at the farm he could not muster up courage to do so.