Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 42

"Yes, you remember me telling you about a lot of old sc.r.a.p-iron and steel dad bought, thinking it had platinum in it?"

"Yes, and it didn't have any in."

"Merely an error in judgment," murmured Mr. Darby. "Any business man, with large schemes on hand, is liable to make them."

"Well, while the metal didn't have any platinum in it, it had a peculiar quality of steel. It is very valuable, and I--that is we"--turning toward his father--"have just sold it to a large firm that wants it to make some very fine springs with."

"Yes, the deal is just completed," broke in Mr. Darby. "My judgment in that old metal is confirmed. I have accepted an offer of two thousand dollars for it. Under the terms of the incorporation papers one-half of that goes to d.i.c.k. I now take pleasure in handing you my check for that amount, as president of The International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation," and with a grand air "Hank" handed d.i.c.k a slip of paper.

"Is this mine?" asked the millionaire's son, in some bewilderment.

"It is," replied Mr. Darby. "It is part of the return from your investment of two hundred and fifty dollars which you put into the firm of which I am president, you treasurer, and my son secretary and general manager."

"That is, I collect the old iron and sell it," explained Henry, seeing that Mr. Larabee looked puzzled. "d.i.c.k was kind enough to invest some money with our company last year, and I am glad I can make a return for him--or, rather, dad can, for he bought the metal that turned out so valuable."

"Then--then--" began d.i.c.k, a light slowly breaking over him, "without intending it, I have made a good, paying investment. A thousand dollars for two hundred and fifty is good, isn't it, dad?"

"Fine, I would say," cried Mr. Hamilton, with a smile.

"And this is my birthday! The year is just up!" went on d.i.c.k. "I--I won't have to go and live with Uncle----"

He stopped in some confusion.

"Do you mean to tell me that this is a bona-fide investment, Mortimer?"

asked Mr. Larabee, turning to his brother-in-law.

"Perfectly legal and legitimate," interrupted Mr. Darby. "Here is a copy of the incorporation agreement."

"Well," remarked Uncle Ezra, with a disappointed air, "I suppose you have fulfilled the conditions of your mother's will, Nephew Richard. I congratulate you," and he shook hands rather stiffly.

"Well, who would have thought it?" gasped d.i.c.k, hardly able to believe his good fortune. "I never gave that investment a thought--in fact, I never considered it an investment, Henry."

"It was, all the same, and I'm glad I am able to do you a favor, for you did me a mighty good turn. The old metal business is in fine shape, and I have more than I can attend to."

"Yes, we must be going, I have a big scheme on hand," put in Mr. Darby.

"A very big scheme, there are enormous possibilities in it. _Enormous_, sir!"

"If they only come out," said Henry, with a laugh, as he and his father withdrew.

"Well, if you are not to come back with me, I suppose I may as well be going," remarked Uncle Ezra, after a pause. "Samanthy will be looking for me. I'll say good-bye."

He turned to go, and at that instant an ominous growl came from under the library table.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Larabee in alarm.

"I--I think it's Grit," replied d.i.c.k, trying not to laugh.

"That bulldog again!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee. "I hate dogs! I wish----"

But what he wished he never said, for Grit, seeming to know that an enemy of his master was present, rushed from under the table, and, with opened mouth, though he probably would not have bitten him, rushed at Uncle Ezra.

"Here, Grit!" cried d.i.c.k. "Come back here this instant!"

But, with a wild yell, Mr. Larabee ran from the room, followed by the dog. Out through the hall and down the steps d.i.c.k's uncle ran, the dog growling behind him. But Gibbs captured Grit at the front door and held him.

"Grit! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" asked d.i.c.k, trying not to laugh.

But Grit growled in a way that seemed to say he was not in the least ashamed.

Mr. Larabee hurried off down the street, not once looking back.

"Well, that was a narrow escape," murmured d.i.c.k. "Eh, dad?"

"I suppose so. Still a visit to your uncle's house might have done you good," added the millionaire, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Now, dad," went on d.i.c.k, "I suppose that as I have fulfilled all the conditions of the will I may do pretty nearly as I please."

"Not altogether," and the millionaire spoke rather gravely. "It is true you will have a certain control of your money left you by your mother, but you remember I told you, a year ago, there were certain other provisions of the will. One of them is that you attend a good military school."

"A military school!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, his eyes sparkling. "That will be fine."

"Yes, but wait. The conditions are that you attend there and become popular with the students in spite of your wealth. In short, that you make your own way up without the aid of your millions, and become one of the upper cla.s.smen through your own efforts. It is not going to be as easy as you think, but I trust you can do it. There is no great hurry about it. I will give you a few months of leisure and then you must get ready for a new life."

"Oh, dad, I think it will be fine!" exclaimed d.i.c.k; "I've always wanted to go to a military academy!" But he little knew of what was in store for him. Those who wish to follow the further adventures of the young millionaire will find them set forth in the second volume of this series, ent.i.tled "d.i.c.k Hamilton's Cadet Days; or the Handicap of a Millionaire's Son."

"Well, Grit, you certainly routed Uncle Ezra," said d.i.c.k, as he patted the ugly head of his pet. "I don't know as I blame you. But it's all over now, though I had some stirring times while it lasted." And, whistling gaily, d.i.c.k went out to deposit in the bank his thousand-dollar check, the profits of his one paying investment.

THE END