Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 30

"What's the matter?" asked d.i.c.k.

"I've got three dollars an' nineteen cents salted down in de dime savings bank," replied the newsboy. "I was savin' it fer a new overcoat, but I'd rather go out West. How far could I go fer three dollars an'

nineteen cents? Could I travel wit youse as far as it lasted?"

The boy looked wistfully at d.i.c.k, and there was a world of longing in the blue eyes of Tim Muldoon as they met the brown orbs of the millionaire's son. Then d.i.c.k came to a sudden resolve.

"Would you like to go with me and the other boys?" he asked.

"Would I? Say, Mr. d.i.c.k, would a cat eat clams? Would I? Don't spring dat on me agin," he added, with an attempt at a laugh. "I've got a weak heart an' I might faint. It's back to little ole N' York an' Hester Street fer mine, I guess."

"No," said d.i.c.k. "I mean it. You may have rendered me and my father a great service, Tim, in telling us about Vanderhoof. If he proves to be what you say he is, a swindler, it is a good thing we found it out when we did. We may be able to save some of our money. If you can arrange to go I'll take you out West with me. Do you think you can?"

"Can I go? Well, I should say I can. Where's me ticket? I ain't got no trunk to pack."

"But what will your folks say?"

"I ain't got no folks, Mr. d.i.c.k. I'm all dere is," and, though he spoke flippantly, there was a suspicion of tears in Tim's eyes.

"Then, if the matron who brought you here says it is all right, you shall go," decided d.i.c.k.

d.i.c.k was actuated by two motives. He wanted to give pleasure to the little waif, to whom he had taken a great liking, and he also felt that Tim might be of service to him. If Vanderhoof turned up out in Nevada, it might be well to have Tim on hand to confront him. Then, too, Tim was a bright, quick lad, and d.i.c.k felt he would be useful on the trip.

d.i.c.k returned his charges to Sunnyside, and the matron, after hearing of the plans for the western trip, readily consented that Tim should go. He was an orphan, she explained, who had been taken in charge by a philanthropic society in New York. The boy was good-hearted and honest, she said, and had proved that he could be trusted. While his talk might be a bit rough and slangy a true heart beat under Tim's patched but neat jacket.

In spite of the prospective trip d.i.c.k did not forget the fresh-air children. It was found that it would require several days to get the through tickets for Yazoo City, and, in the meanwhile, the millionaire's son arranged for a big outdoor clambake for the youngsters. He and the three boys, whom he had invited to make the long journey with him, attended, and helped the waifs to have a good time--if they needed such a.s.sistance, which was doubtful.

Then, after arranging for another lot of the little unfortunates to come to Sunnyside when the first crowd had reached New York, d.i.c.k bade good-bye to those into whose lives he had been able to bring much happiness because of his wealth.

Tim was taken to the Hamilton mansion, where he was fitted up in a manner that made him think he had fallen heir to some vast treasure, such as those he read about in dime novels.

"If me Hester Street friends could see me now," he murmured, as he looked at the new suit d.i.c.k had bought him, "dey would sure take me for a swell."

"Don't think too much of good clothes," warned d.i.c.k.

"Well, it's de first time I ever had any to t'ink about," replied Tim, "an' youse must let me look at dem till I gits used to 'em," which d.i.c.k laughingly agreed to do.

"I hear you're going out West," remarked Henry Darby to d.i.c.k, when he met him on the street the day before that set for the start.

"Yes. Going to look up some gold mines," and d.i.c.k laughed.

"If you find any lying around loose, or one that no one else wants--or even an old one that someone has thrown away--why just express it back to me," requested Henry. "I'd rather have a good gold mine than this old metal business, I think."

"How is it going?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Pretty well. Say, I don't think I ought to keep that hundred-dollar check you sent me for telling you that I'd seen Grit in the man's wagon."

"Of course you've got to keep it!" exclaimed d.i.c.k. "I would have paid it to the first person who gave me the right clue, and I'm sure I couldn't give it to anyone I like better than you."

"It certainly came in mighty handy," said Henry.

"Why?"

"I had a chance to buy up the refuse from an old boiler factory just before I got it and I hadn't any cash. Dad had taken all the surplus.

He's got some scheme on hand, and he won't tell me what it is. He says there's lots of money in it. There may be," went on Henry, with an odd smile, "but what's worrying me is whether dad is going to get the money out of it. That's mostly the trouble with his schemes. There's thousands of dollars in 'em, but the cash generally stays there for all of him.

But maybe this one will turn out all right. I hope so, because he's got all the surplus. But I used the hundred dollars to buy some old iron, and I think I can dispose of it at a profit. Well, I hope you have good luck."

"Thanks," answered d.i.c.k. "I'll remember what you said about a gold mine."

"Well, I'll not insist on a gold mine," called back Henry, as he started his horse up, a task that required some time, for the animal seemed to take advantage of every stop to go to sleep. "I'm not prejudiced in favor of a gold mine. A good-paying silver mine will do pretty nearly as well."

"I'll remember, Henry. Good-bye until I get back."

Early the next morning d.i.c.k and his four boy friends were on their way to the West. Their train was an express and the first stop was at a large city, where several railroads formed a junction. As the boys were looking from the window of the parlor car, Tim, who managed to take his eyes away from the gorgeous fittings long enough to notice what was going on up and down the long station platform, suddenly uttered an exclamation, and grabbed d.i.c.k's arm.

"Look! Dere he is!" he whispered.

"Who?"

"Vanderhoof! Colonel Dendon! Bond Broker Bill!"

"Where? I don't see anyone."

"Dat slick-lookin' man, wid de brown hat on," and Tim pointed to him.

"But he hasn't any black moustache," objected d.i.c.k, thinking Tim's imagination was getting the best of him.

"Of course not. He's cut it off. But I'd know him anywhere by dat scar on his left cheek. Dat's de swindler all right!"

As d.i.c.k looked he saw that the man with the brown hat did have a large scar on his cheek. It had been hidden by the moustache before.

Then, just as the train pulled out, the man looked toward the parlor car. His eyes met d.i.c.k's, and, an instant later, the man with the scar was on the run toward the telegraph office.

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE MINES

"Hold on!" cried d.i.c.k, jumping up. "Stop the train!"

The cars were rapidly acquiring speed, and d.i.c.k ran toward the door with the evident intention of getting off.

"Don't jump, d.i.c.k!" called Walter Mead. "We're going too fast!"

"Dat's right," chimed in Tim. "It's too late!"