"That's all right," replied Dick, with a smile. "Whom shall I make the check out to?"
"Me," replied the manager. "Wellington Dappleton. But say," he added, "would you mind telling me what you want of the circus?"
"I'll tell you," answered Dick, with something of a serious air. "When I was out walking this morning I saw a procession from the orphan asylum. I heard about the circus being overhere, and I knew those poor youngsters couldn't go. I made up my mind that if I could, I'd have the circus come to town and I'd take those kids free. It's the only chance they'll ever get, maybe, and I—well, I've got plenty of money. I can just as well spend some of it this way as in having a good time myself. When can you come?"
"We'll be there to-morrow and play the afternoon and evening," said the manager. "And I'll tell you what I'll do. You needn't make out that check now. We'll wait until after the last performance, and all I'll ask you to do will be to make good whatever I'm short of a thousand-dollar profit. Maybe we can get enough admissions in the town to make up part of the sum. I'll not see a lad do the only good turn in these parts. I'll meet you half way, and there's my hand on it," and once more he gripped Dick's fingers in a hold that made them tingle.
"But the orphans come in free," insisted Dick.
"The orphans come in free," repeated the manager, "and any other boys or girls you like. We'll only charge the grown folks."
So it was arranged. Dick and the manager had a long talk, so long that Dick had time only to see the closing acts in the big tent.
"Well, you missed it," said Frank, as he met Dick on his way out. "You should have seen that fellow hold all those others. It was great! I'm going to join a circus."
"Better wait," advised Dick, with a smile."Have a talk with that acrobat. The show is coming to Hamilton Corners to-morrow, and you can ask him how he likes the life."
"The show coming to Hamilton Corners?"
"Yes," and then Dick told of the arrangements.
Hamilton Corners hardly knew itself when it awoke the next morning. The town was gay with many colored posters, showing fierce animals wandering together over vast treeless plains, and many-hued lithographs of men risking their lives on the high trapeze. Before the boys had fairly gotten the idea into their heads that the circus was coming the cavalcade of wagons began arriving. Dick had seen the town authorities and secured the necessary permits. Then Hamilton Corners really woke up as the news became known that Dick was responsible for the whole affair.
"Say, he spends money like water," observed Simon to Guy. "I wish I had some of what he's throwing away."
"I suppose you'd buy oil stock with it," observed Guy, with a peculiar smile. Simon did not answer.
The orphans at the asylum—hundreds of them—could hardly believe the joyous news when, after Dick had told those in charge, it was announced to them by the matrons. Some of the poor little tots cried in very happiness. One little boy, who remembered once seeing some of the gay lithographs of a circus, was discovered running around in a circle.
"What are you doing?" asked a matron.
"Playing I'm a circus horse," was the answer. "I'se got to do suffin to make de time pass. I'm so happy!"
Long before the time set for the performance, crowds of boys and girls were headed for the big tents. Dick had generously arranged so that no boy or girl need pay, and hundreds of those in Hamilton Corners, as well as those in the surrounding suburbs, besides the orphans, saw the show free.
Dick wanted to go off with some of his chums and view the performance, but the head matron of the asylum asked him to sit with her in the midst of her little charges.
"They want to see you," she explained. "They think you own the circus, and that you are the most wonderful person in the world."
"Oh, pshaw! It isn't anything at all," declared Dick, with a blush. "I just happened to think of it when I saw the little children out walking and saw how sad some of 'em looked. Besides, it's time we had a circus in Hamilton Corners."
The antics of the clowns, the "hair-raising, death-defying evolutions in mid-air," as the programme called them, the performing horses and elephants, the pony races, the chariot contests, the trick dogs, pigs, monkeys, and other animals, the glittering pageant, the music and excitement—all this was as a happy dream to the orphans. Theysat in ecstasy, now and then some of them looking at Dick, who sat in their midst, as though, like some good fairy, they feared he might disappear any minute.
"Well," remarked the manager to Dick in the library of the Hamilton mansion, when the show was over. "You had your circus all right. I guess about four hundred dollars will square us. There were quite a few paid admissions."
"There's your check," answered Dick, passing over a slip of paper, and the manager took his departure.
That night, as the rumble of circus wagons leaving the town came faintly to the ears of Dick and his father, as they sat in the library, Mr. Hamilton remarked:
"Well, did you get your money's worth, Dick?"
"I certainly did, dad. The look on the faces of those orphans was worth twice as much as I spent."
"Still, you might have invested four hundred dollars in some business and gotten large returns from it."
"I invested it in happiness, dad," was Dick's answer.
And then Mr. Hamilton turned away, loving his son more than ever. But still he wondered if Dick would ever be able to fulfil the conditions of his mother's will.
Hamilton Corners did not cease talking of the circus, and Dick's part in it, for several weeks. Among the boys, Dick was more of a hero than ever and many were his champions. Only Simon and Guy sneered, but they took care to do it when no one else was present. The truth was, Simon hated to see Dick spend money unless he had a chance to get some of it, and, since the failure of the bond scheme, this did not seem very likely to happen.
For Mr. Hamilton had warned his son not to get too intimate with Simon. A youth, he said, who had as a friend a man of the character of Colonel Dendon was not a safe chum. Dick promised not to have too much to do with either Simon or Guy, but he was too independent a boy to cut them altogether.
"Are you going to be busy this afternoon, dad?" asked Dick of his father one morning. "Because if you're not, I'd like to come down to the bank and talk over a little business with you. I think it's about time I made some large investment inorder to comply with mother's will, and I want to ask your advice."
"Come along," answered Mr. Hamilton, good-naturedly. "I will aid you all I can, but I'd rather you would learn to depend on yourself. Experience is the best teacher, but her lessons come a trifle high."
Several days previous to this Dick had been in correspondence with a New York firm, and he wanted some advice before he went any further into a certain scheme. Accordingly, at the time appointed, he went to his father's bank, carrying a lot of printed matter and some letters.
"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Hamilton, when he and his son were seated in the private office.
"I was thinking of investing in this company, formed to supply a new kind of preserved milk," said Dick. "Some one has discovered a process by which milk can be made to keep a long time, and yet it tastes like fresh. They state that the milk problem, in big cities, is one that many have tried to solve. By their method any family can have fresh milk with little trouble, and it is almost as cheap as that which comes right from a cow. Of course, in a big city it's impossible to supply fresh milk to everyone.
"They are offering to sell some stock cheap, and it is guaranteed to double in value in six months. They are all ready to put the milk on the market. I was thinking of investing some money in this concern. What do you think of it?"
Mr. Hamilton looked over the mass of circulars, statements of the business that could be done in New York alone, to say nothing of the rest of the country, and glanced at the pictures of machines for making the milk so it would keep for a long time, without ice, even in the hottest weather.
"Well, Dick," he said slowly. "This company has some well-known men connected with it, and the scheme looks all right. That is as far as you can tell from this. If you want to invest some of your money in it I have no objections. How much did you figure on?"
"I thought about five thousand dollars."
Mr. Hamilton uttered a low whistle.
"I'd say two thousand," he remarked. "If you find it's good you can put the other three in later. Better go slow on a new thing. Of course, I don't know anything about it, and if it fails I don't want you to hold me responsible. I'm willing that you should try it—that's all."
"Then I'll send for two thousand dollars' worth of stock," decided Dick; and he made out a check, had it certified, and sent it to New York.
"Now that's done, and I'm in a fair way to make a large profit, I think I'll begin to look around for something else," he said. "It's a good thing to have several investments; isn't it, dad? I think I've heard you say not to have all your eggs in one basket."
"That's right," assented Mr. Hamilton. "Onlyyou want to be sure you have good eggs, and not bad ones; also, that the baskets are strong enough to carry them."
At that moment there came a knock on the door of the private office, and when Mr. Hamilton had called out an invitation to enter, Archibald Spreckles McIverson, to give him his complete name, the messenger of the bank, announced:
"A gentleman to see you, Mr. Hamilton. I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but he says his business is very important and he will not detain you long. He also wishes to see Mr. Dick, and he has a young man with him."
"Show him in," said Mr. Hamilton. "Must be somebody with money," he added to his son as the messenger departed, "or McIverson would never be so puffed up. He loves to announce anyone whom he believes is wealthy, but I don't know of anyone, with any great amount of cash, who is coming to see me to-day."
"Mr. Henry Darby, senior and junior," announced Archibald Spreckles McIverson with a grand air, as he held the door of the private office open so that "Hank" Darby and Henry might enter. Then McIverson softly closed the portal.
"Ahem!" remarked Hank, almost as pompously as had the bank messenger. "Fine day, Mr. Hamilton."
Dick looked at Henry's father in amazement. The man was dressed in a new suit of black, and wore a silk hat. He had a necktie of vivid purple,and a red pink was in his buttonhole. He took off his tall hat and wiped his shining bald head with a big red silk handkerchief. No wonder he had impressed McIverson. Henry looked a little embarrassed, but Dick nodded at him in a friendly way, and made room for him on the sofa upon which he was sitting.
"I have called upon a little matter of business," said Mr. Darby, carefully depositing his hat on the carpet. "I and my son here," and he nodded in Henry's direction. "I may also add that your son is interested—er—to a considerable extent. In fact, I may say to an equal extent with ourselves."
"I wonder what's coming?" thought Mr. Hamilton, who had never seen Hank so well dressed, and who knew the man to be the laziest fellow in Hamilton Corners.
"Your son, Mr. Hamilton," went on Hank Darby, with a grand air that was strangely in contrast with his former attitude when one met him about town, "your son, I may state, has been the means of doing something which I long have desired to see done. He has enabled me and my son to start in business—a business that, while it is small, is capable of enormous possibilities—enormous possibilities," and Mr. Darby looked as if he would puff up like a balloon and float out of the window.
"In short," he went on, "he has loaned my son two hundred and fifty dollars, for which Henryhas given his note. Of course, that is no legal security, and when I heard about it I at once set about putting the matter on a business basis."
"I don't understand," said Mr. Hamilton.
"Henry is in the old iron business, dad," explained Dick.
"Exactly," went on Mr. Darby. "The old metal business, to be more exact. I am also in it with him. Between us we have formed a company—a corporation to be more exact. I have called it The International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation. We have a capital stock of one million dollars——"
"With two hundred and twenty-five paid in," interrupted Henry, with a smile. "Dad took twenty-five of your two hundred and fifty, Dick, to get himself some new clothes."
"Exactly," interrupted Mr. Darby. "As president of the International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation I felt that it was due to the public to look the part. I don't mind old clothes myself, but the public is apt to judge a man by them. So I bought these. I think it will go a great way in impressing the public; do you not agree with me, sir?"
"Perfectly," answered Mr. Hamilton, trying not to smile.
"So you are president?" asked Dick.
"I am," replied Mr. Darby, with a grand air. "I am the president and you, sir, are the treasurer," and he bowed to Dick. "It is with yourcapital that we—my son and I—have been able to make this humble beginning. But all things must have a beginning. The possibilities are enormous, sir—enormous!" and once more Mr. Darby swelled up. "We are going to begin active operations at once, sir; in fact, my son has already begun them. We expect to do a large trade in metals of all description. I shall devote my time to the market abroad in a few weeks, as I shall have exhausted the possibilities on this side of the Atlantic. Then, sir, we shall be truly what the name indicated,international!"
"What do you do, Henry?" asked Dick.
"Me? Oh, I drive the wagon, collect the old iron and sell it again," said the lad, with just the suspicion of a smile, as he glanced in his father's direction. "I bought out old Moses Cohen, and he had a horse and wagon, which I took.
"At least, it's called a horse and wagon in the mortgage which I had to sign," went on Henry, "but sometimes I have my doubts about both," and he laughed a little. "However, it will do for a while—until I can make money enough to get a better rig."
"Yes, we are going a bit slow at first," put in Mr. Darby. "As soon as I get things in good shape I shall take a trip to England. I understand they use a great deal of iron there. Perhaps I shall buy up a large amount abroad and ship it here. I have a number of schemes on as soon as I get this one in such shape that Henrycan run it—with the assistance of Mr. Dick, of course," he hastened to add.
"What we came here for to-day," said Henry, "was to give you these papers, Dick," and he handed over a large bundle.
"What are they?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"The prospectus and incorporation papers of The International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation," interrupted Mr. Darby. "I drew them up myself, and I know they are right. They show the interest you have in the concern," turning to Dick, "and your interests are fully looked after. I wish, also, to endorse the note my son gave you."
"It isn't necessary," declared Dick.
"Pardon me, young man, but it is," insisted Mr. Darby. "Business is business," he continued, with a grand air, and, when Dick produced the note, Mr. Darby, with a flourish, put his name on the back of it.
"It has doubled in value," he remarked, without the ghost of a smile. "Now, our matters being concluded, I will bid you good-afternoon," he said, and with a low bow to Mr. Hamilton and Dick, he backed out, attended by McIverson.
"If he'd let Henry alone the business might amount to something," commented Mr. Hamilton when the visitors had gone.
"Yes, the idea of his taking some of the money to buy a new suit," observed Dick. "Well, Iguess Henry can manage it if he only has half a chance."
"I wouldn't give you much for that note," said Mr. Hamilton.
"You'll not discount it; eh, dad?"
"Not much! It's worse than ever since Hank put his signature on it. I guess your two hundred and fifty dollars are gone."
"Never mind, I helped Henry, anyhow. Maybe he'll pull through. He's a hard worker."
"Gentleman to see you, sir," interrupted McIverson, putting his head into the office. "Says he has an appointment with you."
"What is the name?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"Mr. Franklin Vanderhoof," announced the messenger, with a rolling tone that denoted the person to be of apparent importance.
"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. I'll see him at once. Dick, will you excuse me. I have some business to discuss with Mr. Vanderhoof."
As Dick bade his father good-bye and left the office he saw entering it a man, well dressed, and with a very black moustache. At the sight of the man's face Dick started.
"Where have I seen him before?" the youth asked himself. "There is something strange about that man. I wish I knew what his business was."
Dick looked sharply at the stranger as he passed the man. Mr. Vanderhoof smiled, but when he did Dick thought the attempted pleasantry resembled the grin of a cat when it is about to pounce upon a helpless mouse. With a scarcely perceptible nod to Dick, Mr. Vanderhoof entered Mr. Hamilton's private office and closed the door.
"I've seen you before, I'm sure of it," mused Dick, as he left the bank. "I can't just think where, but there's something familiar about you. I don't like your looks, though I suppose you must be all right or dad wouldn't have much to do with you. I must ask him about you."
Dick found an opportunity a few evenings later. He saw his father looking over some papers in the library at home, and, going in, inquired if Mr. Hamilton was busy.
"Not very," replied the millionaire. "I'm just looking over some new stock I bought to-day. Dick, I'm part owner in a gold mine, in addition to my many other lines of industry," and he laughed pleasantly.
"A gold mine, dad?"
"Yes, a gold mine in—let's see where is it now—oh, in Yazoo City, Nevada. Of course, I don't own the whole mine, I've only bought some stock in it. There it is. I own a thousand shares in the Hop Toad Mine, and I hope they do as toads do, and 'jump' in value."
"A gold mine," repeated Dick. "That would suit me. Why didn't I think of it before."
"How do you mean, Dick?"
"I mean, why didn't I invest in something like that."
"Well, it's not too late, I suppose."
"Do you mean I can get some shares, dad?"
"I don't know that you can in the Hop Toad Mine, as I understand they're all sold out, but I guess Mr. Vanderhoof has shares in other mines just as good."
"Oh, is that what Mr. Vanderhoof is—a mining man?"
"Well, not exactly a mining man. He sells stock in mines. He's what they call a promoter. Why, do you know him?"
"No, but somehow his face seemed familiar. I was sure that day I saw him in the bank that I had met him somewhere else, but when I tried to think I couldn't recall anyone with such a black moustache as he has."
"It is black," admitted Mr. Hamilton.
"And when he smiles he looks like—a cat," went on Dick.
"I can't say that I fancy his looks," agreed the millionaire, with a chuckle. "But I don't do business on looks. I go by facts."
"Is this mining stock good?"
"I think so. I wrote to some men in Yazoo City and I made other investigations, so that I think it as safe an investment as any are in these days. Of course, nothing is a sure thing in this world, but I believe this Hop Toad Mine has one of the richest veins of ore of any mine in that vicinity."
"Then I'm going to invest some of my money in a gold mine," decided Dick. "Where can I find Mr. Vanderhoof?"
"He'll be at the bank to-morrow and you can see him there. Remember, you are doing this on your own responsibility, and if it turns out a failure you've got to chalk it up against yourself."
"All right, dad."
"It will be an experience for the boy, anyhow," murmured the millionaire, as his son left the room. "He's got to learn, the same as I did. I think between his mother's will, his Uncle Ezra, and what I can show him, we'll make a fine man of him in spite of his wealth, which is a mighty handicap—a mighty handicap," and shaking his head doubtfully Mr. Hamilton proceeded to look over some business papers, which task he was at when Dick went to bed.
Dick received a letter the next morning whichrather disquieted him. It was from the firm of whom he had purchased his milk stock, and informed him that owing to certain contingencies in the market they were obliged to ask for an assessment on his stock.
"What's an assessment on stock, dad?" he asked of his father, when he had called at the bank and shown the letter to Mr. Hamilton.
"It means that the company needs more money to run the business, and that you, being part of the company, have to put up your share. Let's see, they want a hundred dollars from you. Well, I guess you'll have to pay it."
"But that's a queer way to do business," grumbled Dick. "I thought I was going to make money, and, instead, I have to pay out more."
"Oh, well, new concerns frequently have to call for an assessment, 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 assessments on many a stock that afterward turned out well."
"I'm glad I thought of that gold mine stock," said Dick. "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 thecorridor that led to the private office and walked through the open doorway.
"Ah, two captains of industry," he remarked, with a nod at Dick 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.
"Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick, who nodded an assent, 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 Dick, 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 Dick, with a look at his father, who, by a nod of his head, assented.
Mr. Vanderhoof smiled, looking, Dick 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 document, showing that he was entitled to a certain number of shares of stock in a gold mine bearing the name Dolphin.
"Well, Dick," 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 gloomyhouse 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 Dick 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."
Dick 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," assented Dick. "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 Dick 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 Dick.
"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 Dick 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 assisted 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.
"Hold on!" cried Dick, 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 Dick.
"Letter? No. What letter?"
"Th' one I writ ye about this machine."
"I don't remember—oh, yes," added Dick, 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 Dick 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.
"Is that really a perpetual motion machine?" asked Frank, who, with the other boys, was much interested in such things.
"Of course it is," replied the man. "I invented it all by myself. I'll tell ye a little about it before I unchain th' critter an' let it git t' work. Did ye fasten th' hoss, Mandy?" he asked, as his wife approached.
"Yep, Silas. Now, do be careful of that contraption. I ain't got no faith in it," she said, turning to the boys.
"No, that's jest th' way with wimmin," remarked Silas. "Yet I really invented it for her."
"How?" asked Dick.
"Wa'al, I was watchin' her churn one day, an' I thought how awful it was that wimmin had t' work so hard. So I decided, if I could invent amachine that would do th' work it would be a great labor-savin' device. Wa'al, I went t' work on it——"
"An' he never give up fer a year," interrupted his wife. "He neglected th' farm until it ain't worth shucks. He spent all he had saved up t' buy machinery, an' he ain't hardly slept nights with worryin' over perpetual motion. I wish he'd throw it away an' go back t' farmin'. He made money that way."
"Farmin's too hard work, Mandy," joined in Mr. Kendall. "We'll be rich now, fer this machine is destined t' revolutionize th' world. I come, jest as I writ ye," he went on, turning to Dick, "t' give ye th' fust chance t' git stock in th' new company I'm goin' t' form t' make th' machines. They don't cost much, and we'll be millionaires in a year. If you've got a leetle t' invest you'll git big dividends out of this."
"Let's see how it works," suggested Walter.
"All right," assented Silas. "I'm goin' t' unchain th' perpetual motion machine. She'll begin t' whizz as soon as I take th' shackles off, an' then—wa'al, watch out, that's all."
He sprung open the padlock with a click and the chain rattled to the ground. As it did so Mr. Kendall sprang back, as though the machine might bite him. He stooped down and peered toward it as if it might spring at him. But nothing happened. The machine was as motionless as a hitching post.
"Hum! Suthin's wrong," murmured the inventor. "Guess it got a leetle stiff comin' over in th' wagon. I'll jest give it a start. Where's a pole? Mandy, git me a clothes pole."
His wife went to the back yard, where she had noticed some, and while she was gone the boys looked at the apparatus.
It consisted of a big wheel, with spokes made in zig-zag fashion. The spokes were shaped like a trough and contained a number of metal balls, which were prevented from falling out, as the wheel turned, by some strips of wood.
There were other smaller wheels connected with the big one, and a tall chute, with a sort of endless chain, to which were attached hooks and buckets. There were also several heavy springs.
"Ye see th' way it works," explained Mr. Kendall, "is by them balls. They roll down the spokes of th' wheel, toward the tire, so t' speak, an', of course, their weight makes th' wheel go 'round. Then, when they git t' th' end of th' spokes they drop out an' roll toward th' high chute. Soon as th' balls git thar th' endless chain an' th' hooks an' buckets on it catches hold of th' balls an' lifts 'em t' th' top. Then they drop inter th' hollow spokes agin an' th' same process goes on over agin. It goes on forever, like th' brook that poetry feller writ about—I forgit his name. It's perpetual motion as sure as ye're a foot high. Ah, here comes Mandy with th' clothes pole. Now I'll jest give th' big wheel a start, 'count ofit gittin' stuck, an' you'll see suthin' worth watchin'."
With the long clothes pole Silas gave the big wheel a cautious poke. It began to move slowly, and he released a big spring.
"Stand back, everybody!" he called. "She vibrates suthin' terrible when she gits goin', an' I don't want nobody t' git hurt!"
At first the wheel barely turned. Silas gave it another prod with the clothes pole and it moved more quickly. Then it released another spring and began to gather speed. Faster and faster it went, the iron balls rolling along the hollow spokes and dropping out with a noise like distant thunder.
"There she goes!" cried the old man, his chin whiskers vibrating in the intensity of his excitement. "There she goes!"
Faster and faster the wheel whizzed around. The balls began dropping with such a continuous noise that one had to shout to be heard.
"How do you stop it?" called Dick.
"No, it won't stop," replied Mr. Kendall, misunderstanding the question.
"Well, how you going to get it home?" shouted Bricktop.
"Oh, when I want to stop it I jest throw th' chain at it, an' it tangles up in th' wheel, an' slows up enough so I can fasten it. If I didn't it would go on—forever—jest like that there brook."
The machine did seem to be working well, although only on account of the strong springs.The balls, as they rolled down the inclined spokes, imparted a swift motion to the wheel. The released balls ran down an incline to the foot of the chute, and the lifting belt began to slowly turn over on the wheels on which it worked. Then something happened.
Whether Silas had not built his machine strong enough to stand the strain, or whether the perpetual motion was too much for it, was never disclosed. At any rate, when the big wheel was revolving at a rapid rate, and the balls were dropping out like immense hail stones, there was a sudden rending, splitting, breaking and cracking of wood. Then the machine seemed to creak and groan in agony. Next there was a snapping sound and the air was filled with a shower of black iron balls, as though a bombshell had burst.
"Duck, everybody!" yelled Dick. "The thing's exploded!"
The machine fairly flew apart, splinters of wood, bits of iron, belts, spokes, chute, inclines and everything was scattered to the thirty-two points of the compass.
"Oh, Silas!" exclaimed Mrs. Kendall. "There it goes!"
"Yep," answered Silas, as he ran to get under a tree. "Thar she goes, sure enough, Mandy!"
There sounded dull thuds as the balls struck the earth. Fortunately no one was hit. Then it began to rain bits of wood.
"I guess it's all over," said Dick, as he and his chums looked down from the porch where they had taken refuge. "What happened, Mr. Kendall?"
"Everything," replied the inventor, in gloomy tones. "I see what th' matter was. Th' big wheel was too strong for th' rest of th' machine. Them balls give it too much power an' it jest naturally went to flinders. I see my mistake now. I'll build it all of iron next time. Wa'al, they say experience teaches us, an' this sure has been a great experience!"
"It sure has, Silas," remarked his wife. "You'd better give it up now, an' go back t' farmin'. That'll pay."
"No, sir," replied Silas, firmly. "I'm goin' t' make a perpetual motion machine before I die, an' don't ye forgit it. I see where I made a mistake an' I'll profit by it. I don't s'pose ye'll want t' invest any thin' in it until I make my new model?" he asked Dick.
"No, I think not," answered the millionaire's son.
"Wa'al, I'll call on ye agin when I git it rebuilt," promised Silas, as he piled the bits of his broken machine into the wagon and drove off.
"Say, Dick, what'll it be next?" asked Walter, as they watched the disappointed farmer driving away. "I never knew it was so exciting to be rich."
"Oh, it's exciting, all right," answered Dick,and he added: "I don't think that was a real perpetual motion machine. The springs made it work. But, come on, or it will be too late for our motor boat ride."
With a big basket, filled with good things to eat, which the cook obligingly put up for them, the four boys were soon at the dock where Dick's craft was moored.
"Let's go to Handell's Island," proposed Bricktop. "I heard there was a cave there that no one ever got to the end of."
"That'll be fun. We'll explore it," said Dick, always ready for any sort of an adventure.
Heading the boat toward the island, which was about ten miles away, the boys stretched out on the cushions to enjoy the trip. It was a beautiful July day, hot enough to make a ride on the lake the height of enjoyment.
They reached the island in quick time, for the boat was a fast one, but, to their disappointment, the cave did not prove so mysterious as they had hoped. They managed to get to the end of it, though the way was choked with dirt and rocks, and found nothing of interest.
"This cave is a regular lemon," announced Bricktop.
"What did you hope for? To find some of Captain Kidd's treasure?" asked Walter.
"Well, it might have been used by the Indians once," was the red-haired youth's answer. "Some day I'm going to bring a lantern and seeif I can't find a few arrow heads or the graves of some dead Indians."
In spite of their disappointment, the boys managed to have a good time, to which the fine lunch added not a little. It was getting dusk when they started for home, with Dick at the steering wheel.
As they approached the dock at Hamilton Corners they saw, when a mile away, that the lake in the vicinity of the boat-house was lighted up.
"What's going on?" asked Walter.
"Oh, it's carnival night," replied Dick. "I forgot all about it. They're going to have a procession of boats on the lake. We'll hurry up and join in. I wish I'd thought to decorate my boat."
He speeded up the craft, anxious, as were the other boys, to take part in the water pageant. They bore down on a little fleet of boats, gaily decorated, and filled with merry, laughing, young persons. The procession was just forming.
Suddenly there sounded a sharp report aboard Dick's boat.
"The motor back-fired," he said. "Take the wheel, Walter, while I look after it."
But, a moment later, it was seen that it was no mere back-fire in a cylinder. A sheet of flame arose from the bottom of the craft.
"The gasolene tank has exploded!" yelled Dick. "Jump for your lives, boys! The boat's afire!"
Above the hissing, crackling flames the motor still puffed away, sending the boat straight toward a confused flotilla of other craft, the occupantsof which set up screams of terror as they saw what had happened.
"Jump!" cried Dick again, as he crawled aft and tried to shut off the engine.
Three splashes in the water told that his companions had leaped overboard and were comparatively out of danger.
"Come on, Dick!" cried Bricktop, rising to the surface. "Jump, or you'll be burned to death."
"I can't!" yelled back Dick, shielding his face from the awful flames with his arm. "I've got to shut off the engine, or the boat'll run into some other one and set it afire!"
Once more he bravely tried to work his way to the engine. He could not reach the gasolene cock from where he was. He cast a look ahead, and saw that his boat was approaching, at swift speed, a knot of other boats, the steersmen of which were too confused to know what to do. Some were getting out of the way, but others were in the direct course of the burning craft.
"What can I do?" Dick asked himself in a hoarse whisper. "I must stop the boat, or steer it out of the way—but how?"
He could neither reach the engine nor the wheel, for the fire was now raging in bow and stern. He stood in a little cockpit amidships, where, for the moment, there were no flames.
Dick looked desperately about him. Nearer and nearer his craft shot to the boats containing girls in their light summer dresses. Once theburning motor boat touched the craft in which the young women were their clothes would envelop them in flames.
"I must stop my boat!" thought Dick, desperately.
Then a brilliant idea came to him. He gave one look at the whirring fly-wheel of the motor. Then, seizing a heavy monkey wrench he opened the jaws and fastened it on a boat hook, so that it stood at right angles to it. Then he thrust the wrench right into the fly-wheel.
There was a grinding, crashing sound, and, a moment later, the whizzing wheel spokes had caught the wrench, and, with resistless force, had driven it through the bottom of the craft.
Dick had scuttled his own boat!
Lurching to one side, as the water rushed in through the ragged hole in the bottom, the boat, with Dick in it, began to lose headway. The water acted as a brake, and, so large was the opening the wrench had torn, that, in a few seconds, all danger was past of the burning boat colliding with other craft, the steersmen of which were too bewildered to get out of the course.
Foot by foot the scuttled boat sank. The water covered the engine now, but the motor still kept going, for enough gasolene remained in the pipe running from the exploded tank to keep it in motion. But the boat was merely floating along, all speed gone.
"Jump, Dick!" cried Bricktop, who, with the other boys, was swimming toward shore. "Jump!"
Dick stood up in the boat he had sacrificed to save the lives of others. The water was up to his knees, and, casting a look about him, he prepared to leap overboard. There was no furtherneed of his remaining, as his brave deed had accomplished what he intended it should.
But now a new danger was presented. The blazing gasolene, forced from the bottom of the boat by the rising water that came through the jagged hole, was floating on the surface of the lake. All about the sinking craft was a pool of flame, ten feet in diameter.
A cry of horror arose from those in the surrounding boats that had quickly congregated near the scene. The gathering dusk was lighted up by the licking tongues of flame, which hissed hungrily, as though angry at being cheated of their prey.
"Wait!" called a man in a large motor boat. "I'll see if I can't get near enough to save you."
He started to steer his craft toward Dick, but the latter cried out:
"No! Keep away. The gasolene is spreading! I'll jump!"
He was standing on the gunwale of the boat now, that part alone being above water. The motor had stopped, and the boat was floating amid a small sea of flame. In just the little patch where Dick stood there was, for the present, at least, no fire.
Dick crouched for a spring. He saw a place where the surrounding ring of flame was the thinnest, and he aimed for that. He was going to try to jump across the belt of fire.
Suddenly he straightened up. Then, with aspring, which lost much of its power because of the uncertain footing the tilting gunwale gave him, he launched himself upward and outward.
Arching his hands over his head to cleave the water, and hoping in his heart that he would clear the ring of flames, Dick felt himself moving through the air. Then, with a sudden change in the little breeze that was blowing, the flames shifted so that they were wider in extent at the place for which he aimed. Those in the outer fringe of motor boats caught their breaths as they saw what had happened. Dick was headed for the center of a leaping mass of fire.
An instant later he had struck the water, covered with the blazing gasolene, and had disappeared beneath the surface.
"Now to save him, if we can!" cried Captain Bailey, of the large motor boatCypress, as he urged his craft forward. Those in it, as they approached the outer ring of fire, looked at the luridly illuminated waters, anxious to catch the first glimpse of Dick. A dark body came to the surface. Two hands shot out, and Dick made an attempt to swim. But he ceased almost as soon as he made the first strokes, and sank back, his head going beneath the waves.
Then sounded a splash from the stern of the boat.
"What was that?" cried Captain Bailey.
"Chandler Norton leaped after him!" was the answer.
And it was Bricktop who, in swimming to shore, had been picked up by theCypress, and who had leaped after Dick when he saw him sink back. Bricktop had removed most of his heavy clothing and shoes, and was more prepared than any of the others to attempt a rescue.
It seemed a very long time that both he and Dick were lost to view, but it was only a few seconds ere Bricktop arose to the surface, one arm about the unconscious form of the millionaire's son.
"Help me get him aboard!" Bricktop gasped. "I'm afraid something has happened to him!"
Willing hands were extended to raise the silent form. Then, when the brave rescuer had been pulled over the stern, all speed was made to shore, which the other two boys had reached some time since in boats that picked them up.
Fortunately there was, in the gathering of merrymakers, a physician, who at once hurried to Dick's side. He carefully examined the youth.
"I'm afraid he inhaled some of the flames," he said, "or he may have struck his head on something when he went overboard. We must get him home, and into bed, as soon as possible."
There were several automobiles at the lake front, and in one of these Dick was taken to the Hamilton mansion at a speed which broke the law—but no one minded that.
Mr. Hamilton was much startled, but he calmly gave orders to have his son cared for. Another physician was summoned, and the two worked over the unconscious form together, while Mr. Hamilton, his face drawn and white, paced anxiously up and down in the hall outside the room.
Suddenly there sounded the patter of feet on the stairs, and, a moment later, something was muzzling Mr. Hamilton's legs, while a gentle whine begged his attention.
"What is it, Grit, old boy?" he asked, huskily, as he reached over and patted the big bulldog's head. "You know something's wrong, don't you? Well—maybe it—maybe it will be all right."
The dog whined and sniffed at the door of the room where the unconscious form of his master lay.
"No—no—not now, Grit, old boy," said Mr. Hamilton, softly, and Grit with a look as much as to say that he knew what was going on, stretched out—a grim guardian at the portal of the silent chamber.
Then, from the room, came a voice, at the sound of which the dog gave a joyous bark, and then, as though conscious that he had done wrong, he changed it to a whine. Mr. Hamilton, with wildly beating heart, heard his son murmur:
"Oh, it's cold, so cold! Where am I? Is the fire out? Did I run down any boats?"
Then came the calm voices of the doctors, urging their patient to be quiet.
But this was more than Grit could do. Hiswhining was like the cry of a child, and he scratched frantically at the door.
"That's Grit. Let him in," Dick said, in stronger tones, and Mr. Hamilton uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The portal was swung and Grit bounded into the room, followed by the millionaire. One of Dick's hands hung over the side of the bed, and Grit began licking it frantically.
"Good—old Grit," murmured Dick, and Grit was content.
"How is he?" asked Mr. Hamilton, in a whisper.
"I'm all right, dad," answered Dick, unexpectedly.
"Not as bad as we feared," answered one of the physicians. "He has inhaled no flames, but he struck his head on something as he jumped. Probably on a bit of floating wreckage. He will be all right after a few days' rest. But he must be kept quiet. No excitement. I congratulate you on your brave son, Mr. Hamilton."
The millionaire silently wrung the hand the physician held out to him.
"It wasn't anything," murmured Dick, in sleepy tones. "I had to stop the boat, and the only way I saw was to put a hole in the bottom. Too bad; it was a fine boat."
"You can have another, if we can't raise her," interrupted Mr. Hamilton.
"Then I knew I'd have to swim under waterto avoid the flames," went on Dick. "I held my breath as long as I could, and then I hit something. I can't remember any more."
He sank into a doze, with Grit still licking the drooping hand.
"I think he will sleep now," said the physician who had examined Dick at the lake. "We will go out, and the dog had better come, too."
"Come, Grit," called Mr. Hamilton, but Grit paid no attention.
"I'll bring him," said the physician, as he reached for the bulldog's collar. Grit growled menacingly.
"Better not," advised the millionaire. "No one but Dick can do anything with him."
So they had to leave Grit there, but he was not in the least in the way, being content to rest beneath the bed, though whenever anyone—nurse or doctor—approached, the dog was ever on the watch.
Dick had to stay in bed three days, and for three days more was a sort of semi-invalid in an easy-chair. Then, the physicians having pronounced all danger past, he was allowed to go out. In the meantime the motor boat was raised and taken away to be repaired.
"Say, I never knew what nice sunshine and fine air we had in this town," said the youth to his father, as he walked down the street with him. "It's worth while being under the weather a bit just to appreciate it when you get out."
"I never knew you had so many friends, Dick," answered his father.
"Friends? How?"
"Why, we had to keep one of the maids busy answering the bell while you were in bed. I guess every boy, and lots of the girls, in Hamilton Corners called to see how you were getting on."
"I'm glad they thought of me," replied the millionaire's son. "I wish I could show I appreciate it."
"Well, I think you can, Dick."
"How?"
"I was going to suggest that you hold a little reception—give a sort of party. That's what we called 'em when I was a boy."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Dick. "That will be sport. But—where could I have it?"
"In the house, of course. Isn't it large enough?"
"That's just it. It's too big and fine. I'm afraid some of the boys wouldn't have a good time, for fear of dropping some cake or ice-cream on the carpets."
"Well, what would you suggest? You might give it in the barn."
"I was thinking of hiring a big tent and having a party out doors on the lawn. That would be unconventional and rather jolly, I think."
"Good idea," answered the millionaire. "I'll order a tent at once and see to the refreshments."
"Let me do that," begged Dick. "I know what boys and girls like to eat."
"Very well," assented his father, with a laugh. "You can do just as you please, and—er—send the bills to me."
"Not much!" exclaimed Dick, proudly. "I'm paying my own way now."
A week later a big white tent was erected on the spacious lawn at the Hamilton mansion. Dick had spent a busy seven days in making the arrangements, and every boy and girl in Hamilton Corners, whom Dick had the least acquaintance with, was invited.
Seldom had there been so much excitement in the town, not even when the circus came, for on this occasion the girls, at least, could "dress up," and we all know what that means to a girl. Nor were the boys behindhand in looking over their best suits and putting an extra shine on their shoes.
The big tent was gay with Chinese lanterns, and a corps of white-suited waiters were in attendance to dispense the good things when, as darkness began to gather, the young people of the town began to assemble at the party. They came from all directions, some of them awkward and shy, for it was their first big affair, while others were more self-possessed.
"Well, are you ready?" asked Simon Scardale, as he called at Guy Fletcher's house, for both had been invited to the gathering.
"Yes, but I don't care much about going. We'll have a slow time."
"Maybe we will, but I've got a little thing I want to plan out, and I can do it there, I think. The fact is, I need money badly, and I've got to get some."
"I hope you're not going to rob the house," remarked Guy, with a nervous laugh.
"Of course not, but I've got a scheme that may work. Come along."
Dick stood at the entrance to the tent receiving his guests. He was a little pale from his recent experience, but otherwise did not seem to have suffered any ill effects.
"Well, Bricktop," he called heartily, as the sandy-haired youth approached, his face almost the color of his locks, "I was afraid you wouldn't come. If it hadn't been for Bricktop there wouldn't have been any party here to-night," he went on, turning to a group of young people. "No, nor any Dick Hamilton, either. He pulled me out in the nick of time."
"Oh, pshaw! I didn't do anything," protested Bricktop, who hated praise.
"I think he was perfectly splendid!" exclaimed Mabel Ford, looking at Bricktop with her big blue eyes in a way that made that modest hero blush more fiercely than before.
"It was perfectly grand!" declared Bertha Lee, known as "Birdy" among her friends. "How I wish I was a big, strong young man," and she gazed admiringly at Bricktop.
"Why not a strong lady," suggested Simon Scardale, with a grin, as he joined the group.
At his approach several girls moved away, as they did not like him. Guy was close in Simon's wake, and both boys nodded to Dick.
"Feeling pretty fit now, old chap?" asked Simon.
"Oh, I'm all right," answered Dick.
"Feel like having a game of billiards?" went on Simon. "I'll bet you ten dollars I can beat you on your own table."
"No, thank you," replied Dick, with a laugh. "I'm too busy looking after my guests to-night. Besides, I don't play for money. Come over some other time and I'll play you all you like, for fun."
"Stingy beast," muttered Simon, as Dick moved away to greet some newcomers, "and I need the money, too."
"Maybe you'd lose," suggested Guy.
"I don't play to lose," replied Simon, with an ugly leer.
The little feeling of strangeness which many of the boys and girls at first experienced gradually wore off, and soon the party was in full swing. All sorts of games were played, and Dick and his closest chums saw to it that there was no lack of liveliness. A number of the fathers and mothers of the younger children had accompanied them, and to these older folks Dick was attentive, seeing that they had seats, and sending the waiters to them to ask if they wouldn't have a cup of coffee or some ices before supper was served.
"Say," observed one man to his wife, after Dick had found them chairs, "you'd never know he was a millionaire, would you?"
"Why not?"
"Why, because he's just like other boys—he's like one of our own folks."
"Of course he is," answered his wife. "It's only the wrong kind of people that money makes any difference to. Dick Hamilton can't help being nice. His money hasn't spoiled him," which view was shared by more than one that night.
And such a supper as there was! Long years afterward some of the boys and girls, who were quite small when they attended Dick's party, used to tell of it as though it was a visit to fairyland. Dick fairly outdone himself in seeing that everyone had a good time, and from the faces around the long tables, set within the tent, it was evident that the way to young people's hearts, or, at least, to their good spirits, is through their stomachs.
Dick walked about, like a perfect host, seeing that everyone was served, before sitting down himself. At his heels followed Grit, who was unhappy when away from his master.
"Oh, what a perfect darling of a dog!" exclaimed Birdy Lee, as she stopped over to pat Grit, which indignity he suffered in disdainful silence.
"Isn't he sweet!" chorused several other girls.
"Well, he's no beauty, judged by young ladies' standards," said Dick, with a gallant look at his girl friends. "But beauty in a bulldog is more than skin deep," he added. "Grit is pure gold when it comes to being a friend."
"What makes his two teeth stick up that way? Don't they hurt his lip?" asked Alice.
"I never heard him complain," replied Dick. "But I'd better move along, I guess. Grit is getting hungry, and I don't want him to begin on any of the waiters. He doesn't take to colored men very well. One of them started to run when Grit growled at him a while ago as the man was bringing in a roast chicken."
After supper there were more games, and the fun increased as the hours passed. Dick was congratulated on every side, not only for the success of his party, but on his speedy recovery from the boat accident.
As the millionaire's son was crossing the tent, with Grit following at his heels, he met Guy and Simon, who had been together all the evening, and who had not mingled much with the other guests.
"Hello, Grit, old boy!" exclaimed Simon, but the dog must have detected the insincerity in the youth's tones, for he uttered a low growl and showed his strong teeth.
"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," sneered Simon.
"No, I don't think it would be exactly healthy," remarked Dick.
"Is he a very valuable dog?" Simon went on, paying no further attention to Grit.
"Well, he's rated at a thousand dollars in the records of the Kennel Club," answered Dick. "I don't know that any dog is worth so much from a financial standpoint, but I know I wouldn't sell him for that; would I, Grit?" and the bulldog almost wagged his stump of a tail off in delight at Dick's caressing words.
"Humph! I'd look at a thousand dollars a good while before I'd give it for a dog," cried Simon.
"You don't know Grit," was Dick's quiet answer, as he turned away.
"Come on, Guy," said Simon, a little later. "I'm going to clear out of here."
"What for? Let's have some more ice-cream. It's bully."
"No," replied Simon, shortly. "I've got a scheme on for making some money out of Dick, and taking him down a peg. I owe him something for spoiling that bond sale."
"But he didn't spoil it," replied Guy, who, in spite of certain mean traits of character, was inclined to be fair. "Besides, you wouldn't have sold Dick worthless bonds, would you?"
"How was I to know they were worthless?" asked Simon, with a short laugh. "He has to take chances in this world. But this time there'llbe no slip-up. Come on, I've got to see a man to-night."
As the two walked from the tent, where the merry-making was still going on, Guy saw something dangling from Simon's pocket. It looked like a small black snake.
"What's that?" he asked, in some alarm.
"Hush!" whispered Simon. "That's the leash thong of Dick Hamilton's bulldog. Come along!"