Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 17

"Oh, well, new concerns frequently have to call for an a.s.sessment, instead of paying dividends," consoled his father. "The stock may pay well yet. Milk is something every family has to have, you know, and they have to have it every day. The company may be all right when it gets well started. I wouldn't worry now. I've had to pay a.s.sessments on many a stock that afterward turned out well."

"I'm glad I thought of that gold mine stock," said d.i.c.k. "I guess that will be the best thing yet. When will Mr. Vanderhoof be here?"

"Almost any minute now. Ah, there he comes," and, as Mr. Hamilton spoke, the man with the very black moustache came down the corridor that led to the private office and walked through the open doorway.

"Ah, two captains of industry," he remarked, with a nod at d.i.c.k and his father. "The young and the--ah--er--I was about to say old--I will change it to junior and senior," with a bow to Mr. Hamilton.

"d.i.c.k thinks he'd like to buy some gold mine stock," said the millionaire. "I telephoned you about it, you recall, and explained my son's position."

"I understand," remarked Mr. Vanderhoof. "He wants to make a good paying investment."

"That's it," put in d.i.c.k, as he thought of his Uncle Ezra and what would happen if he did not comply with the terms of his mother's will.

"Well, I think I can find him some good stock," went on the promoter.

"It won't be in the same mine you're in, Mr. Hamilton. That stock was too valuable to last long. But I have some nearly as good. It is in the same neighborhood. In fact, it is in the next mine to the Hop Toad--the Dolphin. We think it very good. You can make the same inquiries that you did in regard to the other stock. It will bear the closest investigation."

"We'll take it, subject to a report from Yazoo City," said Mr. Hamilton, with a look at d.i.c.k, who nodded an a.s.sent, for he knew very little about buying stock.

"Then I suppose you'll pay enough to bind the bargain?" asked Mr.

Vanderhoof.

"Of course," replied d.i.c.k, producing his check book. "How much?"

"Five hundred dollars will do as a starter. But about how much stock would you want?"

"Oh, I guess two thousand dollars' worth will do," replied d.i.c.k, with a look at his father, who, by a nod of his head, a.s.sented.

Mr. Vanderhoof smiled, looking, d.i.c.k thought, more than ever like a cat about to pounce on a mouse, and when the check was made out the promoter handed him a doc.u.ment, showing that he was ent.i.tled to a certain number of shares of stock in a gold mine bearing the name Dolphin.

"Well, d.i.c.k," remarked his father, when Mr. Vanderhoof had left, "you are certainly getting right into business. How do you like it?"

"Very much. I only hope some of my investments pan out."

"Well, you haven't made very many, but what you have gone into you have loaded up pretty well with. However, that may be a good way. Of course, if they fail, the money loss will not make much difference to you, but I don't want to see you lose. It would show a poor head for business if you did, and I hope you haven't got that."

"So do I," remarked his son. "Oh, I'm going to make a success some way or other," and once more the vision of his uncle's home, the gloomy house set in the midst of the dark fir trees, like some residence in a cemetery, came to him as the memory of a bad dream.

"Where are you going now?" asked his father, as d.i.c.k started to leave the private office.

"I thought I'd take a ride with some of the boys in my motor boat. I haven't been out for some time."

"All right, only be careful."

"I will, dad. Good-bye."

d.i.c.k stopped, on his way home, and called for Bricktop, Frank Bender and Walter Mead, inviting them to go for a ride in his trim little craft, which was in the boat house on Lake Dunkirk.

"Let's take our lunch and stay the rest of the day," suggested Bricktop.

"It's too fine out doors to be around the house."

"Good idea," a.s.sented d.i.c.k. "I'll have our cook put us up a basket of stuff."

The eyes of the other boys glistened, for they knew from experience the good things that came from the Hamilton kitchen, and they had visions of cold chicken and turkey, fine cakes and big, thick, juicy pies.

As d.i.c.k and his friends entered the side yard, they saw, standing on the driveway, a rather dilapidated wagon, drawn by a very bony horse. In the wagon was something covered with a sheet, while on the seat sat a grizzled, dried-up sort of a man, with a little bunch of whiskers on his chin. Beside him was a woman in a calico dress, and she looked worried.

"Are you Mr. Richard Hamilton?" asked the man, looking at Bricktop.

"No; he is," was the answer, and Bricktop pointed at d.i.c.k.

"Hum! Well, I'm glad to meet you. I've been waitin' some time, an' the hired man, the one with his shirt front all showin', where his vest is wore out (for thus he described the butler's dress suit), said he didn't know when you'd come home. But I brought it along with me, jest as I said I would, an' I'll show ye how it works. Mandy, jest hold th' hoss until I git th' machine out," and though the animal did not seem in need of any restraint the woman grasped the reins her husband gave her.

Then, before d.i.c.k could remonstrate, the man got down from the wagon, and began tugging at the object covered with a sheet. It seemed quite heavy.

"Would one of you young gentlemen mind givin' me a hand?" he asked, and Walter and Frank a.s.sisted him in lifting the object down to the ground.

"There ye be!" exclaimed the man, in an excited manner, while his eyes glittered in a strange way. "There she is. Now watch, everybody, when she gits goin'. Mandy, drive th' hoss up towards th' stable; it might git frightened.

"Now," he went on, "ye're about t' witness one of th' wonders of th'

age. Look out, everybody!" and, with a flourish, he pulled the sheet away.

CHAPTER XIII

d.i.c.k'S BRAVE ACT

"Hold on!" cried d.i.c.k, as he saw revealed a maze of wheels, levers, belts and cranks. "What is this? Who are you?"

For an instant he thought the thing might be an infernal machine.

"Who am I?" asked the man. "Why, I'm Silas Kendall, of Manlius Centre, an' this is my perpetual motion machine. Wait until I take th' chain off so's it can git inter motion an' ye'll open yer eyes, I reckon."

"Is it dangerous?" asked Bricktop, preparing to run.

"Not a bit, if ye don't put yer fingers in th' wheels. It wouldn't harm a baby."

He drew from his pocket a key, which he proceeded to insert into a big lock that held together the ends of a chain which was twisted about the biggest wheel on the machine.

"Have t' keep it chained up," he said, with a queer sort of smile, "or it would keep on workin' all th' while. I'll show ye--Silas Kendall--he'll astonish th' world. Ye got my letter, I reckon," turning to d.i.c.k.

"Letter? No. What letter?"

"Th' one I writ ye about this machine."

"I don't remember--oh, yes," added d.i.c.k, quickly. He did recall among the many letters he had received recently (begging epistles most of them), one in which the writer said he would soon call to exhibit a new machine he had invented, and one which was destined to make all interested in it rich for life. But d.i.c.k thought it was just like lots of other missives he had been receiving from cranks since the advent of his wealth, and he threw it away. Now, it seemed, the letter was from Mr. Kendall.