John Wilbur Garwell,Real Estate Broker.Represented byNATHANIEL M. NASON.
John Wilbur Garwell,Real Estate Broker.
Represented byNATHANIEL M. NASON.
The girl told Nat to take a seat, and went off with the card. He waited for fully five minutes, during which he heard a low murmur of voices in a back room. Then a tall, dark-eyed man came forward.
"What do you wish of Mrs. Parloe?" he questioned, abruptly.
"Excuse me, but my business is with the lady," answered Nat, politely. He had been told to transact business with Mrs. Parloe and with nobody else.
"Oh! I suppose you came about that property," went on the dark-eyed man, surlily. "If you did, let me tell you, it won't do any good."
To this our hero made no reply.
"Mrs. Parloe will see you upstairs," said the girl, returning, and showed Nat the way up. The dark-eyed man started to follow, but the girl called him back.
"Mrs. Parloe wished you to remain below, Mr. Cameron," she said.
At this the man uttered something under his breath which Nat could not catch. Evidently, he was very angry, and he went into a side room, slamming the door after him.
Nat found Mrs. Parloe sitting in an easy chair by a front window. She was something of an invalid and rather old.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Nason," said she. "Take a seat."
"Thank you," returned Nat. "Here is a note for you from Mr. Garwell," and he passed it over.
The old lady read the communication carefully, nodding to herself as she did so. Then she turned again to our hero.
"Have you the document with you?"
"Yes, ma'am," and Nat brought it forth. "You will have to have somebody as a witness. Can I call somebody for you?"
The old lady mused for a moment.
"I don't believe Rufus will do it," she said, half aloud.
"Do you mean the gentleman I met downstairs?"
"Yes, my nephew, Rufus Cameron. He does not wish me to transact business with Mr. Garwell. You may call John, my hired man. He is quite intelligent."
"Where will I find him?"
"You will—but never mind, Mary can call him."
Mrs. Parloe touched a bell, and soon Mary appeared, and went off to find the hired man. In the meantime, Nat fixed a reading stand so it could be used as a writing table, and brought out a stylographic pen his employer had given him.
Soon the hired man appeared. He was fairly well educated, and showed it in his face and manner.
"I am going to sign this document, John," said the old lady. "I wish you to witness my signature."
"Yes, ma'am."
Not without something of an effort, Mrs. Parloe affixed her signature to the paper. Then Nat handed the document to John, and told him where to place his own name in full, and also his address. In a minute the matter was concluded, and Mrs. Parloe told the hired man to go, and he did so.
"I trust Mr. Garwell has no further difficulty in this matter," said the old lady, as Nat stowed the document away in his pocket.
"He told me to say that he is going to put it through just as soon as he can," answered Nat. "I don't know anything more about it than that."
"Are you one of his clerks?"
"Yes, ma'am—his private clerk."
"You are rather young for such a position."
"I suppose I am, but Mr. Garwell seems to like me, and I am doing what I can to please him."
"Mr. Garwell is a good man," said the old lady, and there the interview came to an end, and Nat left the room. He was just going to leave the house when the dark-eyed man stepped into the lower hallway, and caught him by the arm.
"What do you want?" demanded our hero. He did not like the idea of being detained, now that his business was concluded.
"I want to talk to you a minute," said the man. "Come into the parlor."
"I am in something of a hurry, Mr.——"
"My name is Rufus Cameron. Mrs. Parloe is my aunt. I must talk to you. Come in."
Rufus Cameron caught a firm hold of our hero and almost forced him into the parlor. Then he shut the door tightly and stood in front of it.
"What do you want?" demanded Nat. He did not like the looks of Rufus Cameron. The fellow's face was dissipated.
"You got my aunt to sign a certain document, didn't you?"
"What if I did?"
"I want to see that paper."
"If you do, you'll have to see my employer about it."
"You've got the paper right here. Why can't you show it to me?"
"Because I have no authority for so doing," answered our hero, firmly.
"Humph! It won't hurt you to let me look over the paper," growled Rufus Cameron.
"I have my orders."
"Did John Garwell tell you not to show me the paper?"
"He told me to have it signed, and to bring it right back."
"Well, I want to see it, and I'm going to do it before you leave this house."
"Are you going to take the paper away from me!" cried Nat, in alarm.
"I only want to look at it. As soon as I've read it, I'll give it back to you."
"I can't allow the paper to go out of my possession, Mr. Cameron."
"Mrs. Parloe isn't entirely responsible for what she does. I must see to it that everything is all right."
"Well, you had better call on Mr. Garwell."
"No, I must see the document while you have it here. Come! hand it over."
"I will not."
Nat had scarcely spoken when Rufus Cameron caught him roughly by the shoulder.
"Look here, boy, I am not a man to be trifled with!" he whispered, fiercely. "Let me see the paper, and it will be all right. But if you won't, I'll make a whole lot of trouble for you."
"Let go of me!" and Nat tried to pull himself away.
"You stole this ring while you were upstairs," said Rufus Cameron, quickly, and, putting his hand in Nat's side pocket, he brought it out again with a diamond ring.
"I—I never saw that ring before," gasped Nat.
"You stole it, I say, and unless you behave yourself, I'll have you arrested," went on Rufus Cameron, coldly.
Nat was dumfounded, but like a flash he saw through the trick that the man wanted to play on him.
"You can't fool me, Mr. Rufus Cameron," said he, sharply. "Let me go, or I'll have you hauled up in court for this. Your dirty trick won't work with me."
Rufus Cameron fell back, crestfallen. He had not anticipated such bravery on our hero's part. He was a coward at heart, and too much liquor had somewhat muddled his brain.
"Then you won't show me the document?" he muttered.
"No."
As Nat uttered the word, Rufus Cameron picked up a sea shell lying on a mantelshelf, and swung it behind his head.
"If you don't let me see that——" he began.
Nat rushed at him, and pushed him to one side. Then our hero made for the door. He was just opening it when the seashell was sent whizzing forward. It hit Nat on the head, and the boy dropped unconscious across an easy chair.
For the instant Rufus Cameron was startled. Then rushing to the door, he locked it, and also locked some folding doors leading to a rear apartment.
"I hope I didn't hurt him much," he muttered. "What a young fool he was not to let me see the paper."
He propped Nat up in the easy chair, and placed his hand in the boy's inside pocket. Soon he had the document in his possession, and was looking over it rapidly.
"Just as I thought. I'm glad I got it. Now, we'll see if Shanley and I can't outwit Mr. John Garwell."
Nat was already coming to his senses, and Rufus Cameron lost no time in hurrying to the library of the house. Here he obtained an old document of no consequence, but which still bore his aunt's signature. Rushing back, he placed this in the envelope which had held the other paper of importance.
Nat was just returning to his senses when he found himself being taken out of the house by Rufus Cameron. The man supported him as far as the corner and there placed him on a stone step leading to a church.
"Wha—what did you hit me for?" stammered our hero, feebly.
"I didn't mean to do that; really I didn't," said Rufus Cameron, smoothly. "The shell slipped. I am very sorry—very sorry, indeed."
"It was a mean thing to do."
"It was an accident, I give you my word on it."
Nat felt in his pocket to learn if the document was still there.
"Did you look at that paper?" he questioned.
"No, I didn't. On second thought I have concluded to let my aunt do just as she pleases in this matter."
Nat felt in no condition to argue. He took out the document, glanced at it, and shoved it back into the envelope and then in his pocket.
"I'm sorry this happened. I was excited for the minute. Come and have a drink with me. It will do you good," went on Rufus Cameron.
"I don't drink."
"Shall I show you to the car then?"
"Yes."
When Nat got up the rascal supported him, and thus they made their way to the car line running to the Bridge. Here, our hero boarded a car, and Rufus Cameron watched him ride out of sight.
"That was easy after all," muttered Rufus Cameron to himself. "I only hope it don't make too much trouble in the future. I'll have to let Shanley have this document without delay, and I'd better get out of sight until the affair blows over."
Making his way to a neighboring café, Rufus Cameron treated himself to a drink of strong liquor and a black-looking cigar. Then he returned to his aunt's home. He lived with her, and was doing his best to get certain of her properties away from her.
"Aunt Jane, what did that young man want?" he asked, as he entered her room.
"He came to see me on private business, Rufus," was the quiet answer. Mrs. Parloe did not fancy her nephew's habits, and had often warned him that he must reform.
"Was there anything I could do for you?"
"No, Rufus."
"Do you know, Aunt Jane, I've been thinking of taking a trip to the West," he went on, after a pause.
"So you said before."
"I'd go in a minute if I had the money."
"How much do you want?"
"Two or three hundred dollars at least."
"Is the money gone that I let you have last month?"
"Yes, I had to pay some back bills with that."
"You are very extravagant, Rufus."
"Oh, a young man must spend something."
"But not as much as you spend."
"I don't spend any more than the rest of the fellows in my set. I have got to keep up appearances, you know."
"Your set is altogether too fast a one to suit me."
"Will you let me have the money?"
"How long do you expect to be gone?"
"That depends upon what you will give me. If you'll let me have five hundred dollars, I'll make a trip of two or three months."
Mrs. Parloe thought for a moment, and at last consented to give her nephew the five hundred. She had her check book handy, and soon the check was passed over to the nephew.
"When shall you start?" she asked.
"I don't know. I've a good notion to start to-night. But if you want me to do anything for you before I go——"
"There is nothing, Rufus. Only, if you want to please me, don't get into any bad habits while you are gone."
"Oh, I'm going to turn over a new leaf when I leave Brooklyn," said the hypocrite. "Then, I can leave to-night?"
"Yes."
"In that case, I'll pack my trunk at once," said Rufus Cameron; and a little later he did so. Then he had the trunk taken away, bid his aunt good-by, and was off.
"That was easy," he said to himself, when away from the house. "Now to see Shanley and to arrange for keeping out of sight, in case John Garwell kicks up a fuss."
As soon as Nat returned to the office he sought out Mr. Garwell, and handed him the document in the envelope.
"Did you have any trouble getting Mrs. Parloe's signature?" asked the real estate broker.
"I had no trouble getting the signature, but I had trouble getting away from the house," answered Nat.
"Trouble getting away? What do you mean?"
"I was stopped by her nephew, a man named Rufus Cameron. He handled me rather roughly."
"Did he try to get the document away from you?" And now John Garwell was all attention.
"He hauled me in the parlor, and demanded that I let him look at the paper. I refused, and then he threatened me."
"And what happened after that?"
"He put his hand in my pocket and brought out a diamond ring. He said I had stolen it."
"Of course you hadn't, Nat?"
"I had never seen the ring before. But that wasn't the worst of it. He picked up a sea shell and hit me with it and knocked me senseless."
After that our hero told his story in detail, relating also what Rufus Cameron had said on assisting him to the street car. The real estate broker listened with keen interest.
"That man is a scoundrel!" he exclaimed, when Nat had concluded his story. "I pity Mrs. Parloe. He is doing his best to get all her money from her."
"It was a mean trick to say I took the ring," declared Nat.
"He did that thinking to get you in his power, my boy. Are you sure he didn't look at the document?"
"I can't say what he did while I was senseless, Mr. Garwell."
"I'll take a look at the paper and see if he made any alterations in the text."
John Garwell looked at the document and began to read it.
"Why, this is not the paper I gave you, Nat," he ejaculated.
"Not the same?"
"No. It's some old thing that I know nothing about."
"If that's the case, Mr. Cameron substituted this paper for the real one!" exclaimed our hero. "He could easily have done that during the time I was knocked out."
"I'll see about this without delay," said John Garwell, decisively. "I will show that fellow that he can't carry matters with quite such a high hand."
"What can he do with that paper, Mr. Garwell?"
"He can cause me a great deal of trouble. The paper refers to a piece of property in which Mrs. Parloe held an interest. I have been trying to get a free and clear title to the land for a client of mine, and another real estate dealer named Andrew Shanley has been trying to get the land for another party. It is a mixed-up affair, but I hoped the signing of that paper would help to straighten out matters."
The real estate broker was as good as his word, but he was exceedingly busy, and it was not until two in the afternoon that he could get away. Then he went to Brooklyn, taking Nat with him.
"I would like to see Mr. Cameron," said he to the girl at Mrs. Parloe's home.
"Mr. Cameron has gone away, sir," was the unexpected answer.
"Do you know when he will be back?"
"I'll ask Mrs. Parloe," said the girl.
She went upstairs, leaving them in the parlor below. Soon she came back.
"He has gone out west, Mrs. Parloe says, and she doesn't expect him back for two or three months."
"Gone west," cried Nat. "When did he go?"
"He went away about noon."
"Did he take any baggage?" asked John Garwell.
"Yes, sir, a dress-suit case, and he sent an expressman around for his trunk, too."
"Then I won't bother you any more," said the real estate broker, and left the house, followed by Nat.
"Don't you want to ask Mrs. Parloe about this?" queried our hero.
"It would be useless to do so, Nat. It would only upset the old lady."
"She might be able to tell us just where her nephew had gone to?"
"It is not likely. He intends to keep out of the way, that is certain."
"Maybe he didn't go west at all!" said our hero, suddenly.
"Such a thing is possible."
"Did you say he was in league with this other real estate broker?"
"I don't know about that, although I know he and this Shanley are friends."
"I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea for me to watch around this Shanley's office for him?"
"Ha! That is an idea." John Garwell smiled broadly. "Nat, you are growing clever."
"Even if I couldn't get the paper, I could prove that he had not gone west, as he told his aunt, and I could follow him, and find out where he was stopping."
"Well, you can do the watching if you wish. I will give you Andrew V. Shanley's address. His place of business is between here and the Bridge."
"Shall I go there at once?"
"If you wish."
The address was written on a slip of paper, and a little later Nat and his employer separated. John Garwell gazed after our hero curiously.
"He is improving wonderfully," he mused. "He isn't half as green as when I first met him."
Nat had been told what car to take, and ten minutes sufficed to bring him to the block upon which Andrew Shanley's office was located, on the third floor of a large office building. He went upstairs, and managed to get a peep into the office, and found Rufus Cameron was not there.
"Of course he may have been here already," he told himself. "But I've got to take my chances about that. I'll stay here until the place shuts up."
Going below again, he took a station across the street and began to wait patiently for the appearance of Rufus Cameron.
As luck would have it, he had waited less than half an hour when he saw Mrs. Parloe's nephew step from a car at the corner, and approach the office building.
"Mr. Cameron, I want to see you!" he exclaimed, coming forward, and confronting the man.
Rufus Cameron had not expected to meet Nat again so soon, and for the moment he was dumfounded.
"Wha—what do you want?" he stammered, halting.
"You know well enough what I want," answered our hero, sharply. "I want that document you stole from me."
"Stole from you!"
"That is what I said, Rufus Cameron."
"I—I don't know what you are talking about."
"You do know, and unless you give up the paper I am going to have you arrested right now."
At these words Rufus Cameron turned pale. As said before, he was a good deal of a coward, and being caught so unexpectedly threw him somewhat from his mental balance.
"You—you can't have me arrested!"
"Yes, I can."
"How did you come to look for me here?"
"Mr. Garwell sent me here. He is up to your tricks."
"Did he tell you to—to have me arrested?"
"Never mind what he told me. I want that paper, and I want it right now."
"I—I haven't got any paper. I—I don't know what you are talking about."
"Yes, you have got that paper. You took it from me after you knocked me down in your aunt's parlor. Isn't that so?"
As Nat finished he nodded, as if talking to somebody behind Rufus Cameron. At once the guilty fellow turned his head to learn who was listening to the conversation. As he did this, Nat thrust his hand in the rascal's breast pocket, and brought forth the document which had caused all the trouble.
"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.
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.
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.
On the following day Nat arose at five o'clock, and put on an old suit of clothes. Slipping downstairs he hurried to the barn, where he fed the horses and then milked the cows. He was just finishing up when his uncle appeared.
"Well, I never!" ejaculated Abner Balberry. "Right back into harness ag'in, eh?"
"Yes, Uncle Abner; I thought I'd like a little taste of old times."
"You've done putty good to get through so quick, Nat. I wish Fred was such good help."
"Doesn't he help at all?"
"Not unless you drive him all the time. His mother gits after him, an' so do I, but it don't appear to do no good."
"He wants to go to the city and try his luck."
"Humph! He'd starve to death."
"Perhaps it might teach him a lesson."
"Well, he's got to do somethin' putty soon. I ain't goin' to support him if he won't work."
For the balance of the day Nat helped his uncle around the farm. It was rather hard work, but he did not complain, and Abner was greatly pleased.
"Nat, if you git tired o' the city, you come back here," said his uncle, on parting. "Remember, I'll make it right with you."
"I'll remember, Uncle Abner," responded Nat.
"Somehow, I guess I didn't use to understand you. You're a putty good boy after all."
"It's kind to say so."
"An' it wasn't right fer me to say you sot the barn afire," added Abner, earnestly.
"We'll let bygones be bygones," answered Nat, and then he shook hands with his uncle.
When Nat started back for New York, his Uncle Abner drove him to the railroad station at Brookville. Fred wanted to go for the ride, but his mother told him he must stay at the farm.
"You go and cut the wood," said she, sharply. "If you don't you'll get no supper to-night."
"I ain't goin' to cut no wood," growled Fred.
"Yes, you are—and do it right now, too."
"Hang the wood," muttered Fred, savagely. "I ain't going to stay on the farm. I'm going to New York, same as Nat."
At the depot Nat and his uncle parted on the best of terms.
"If you kin git off at Christmas, come an' see us," said Abner Balberry. "We'll have a good fat turkey for dinner, with all the fixin's."
"Thank you very much," said Nat. "Perhaps I'll come—if I can get away."
The run to Cleveland was quickly made, and here our hero found that he would have an hour to wait before the arrival of the train for New York. As his dress-suit case had been checked, he felt at liberty to walk around, to see the sights.
"How different matters are from when I first struck this city," he thought, as he walked along one of the streets. "Then I was a real greeny, but I didn't know it."
Nat was returning to the railroad station when he suddenly heard his name called, and turning, found himself confronted by Paul Hampton.
"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Hampton?" he cried, and shook hands. "I am real glad to see you."
"And I am glad to see you," answered the young man. "But how comes it you are in Cleveland. I thought you were in New York."
"I've been back to the farm for a couple of days—on business and pleasure combined. Aren't you in Buffalo and Niagara Falls any more?"
"Oh, yes, a law case brought me here. How are you doing?"
"Very well indeed."
"I am glad to hear it."
"You were awfully good to give me that hundred dollars," continued Nat, earnestly, "I never expected it."
"I hope it did you lots of good, Nat."
"It did and it didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"The money was stolen from me—or rather I was swindled out of it. That opened my eyes to the fact that I was not as smart as I had imagined myself to be." And then our hero related the experience he had had with Nick Smithers, alias Hamilton Dart.
"That was too bad," said Paul Hampton. "I trust you locate this Smithers some day."
"So do I."
"What are you doing?"
"I am with a real estate broker. I am learning shorthand and typewriting, and I am to become his private secretary."
"Then you are on the right road, and I congratulate you. The real estate business is an excellent one, especially in a large city like New York."
Paul Hampton walked to the depot with Nat and saw him on the cars. Soon our hero was off. The trip back to the metropolis was made without anything out of the ordinary happening.
"So you are back," said John Garwell, when our hero presented himself at the office. "I hope you enjoyed the trip."
"I did, very much, Mr. Garwell."
"How did your uncle treat you?"
"Finely, sir."
"Did you find any papers of value?" went on the real estate broker.
"I found half a dozen which I wish you would look over." And Nat brought forth the documents.
"I am anxious to close that real estate deal," went on John Garwell. "Others are getting wind of it, including that fellow Shanley from Brooklyn. He is doing his best to make me lose on the deal."
"Is Rufus Cameron in with him?"
"I believe he is. Both of them are very bitter."
"I suppose they are bitter against me too," observed Nat soberly.
"It is more than likely. But that can't be helped, Nat. In business a man is bound to make more or less of enemies."
John Garwell was very busy, and said he would look over the documents the next day. But on the following morning he was called out of town, so the documents were not examined until some days later.
As soon as he returned to the office, Nat went to work with vigor for over a week, to make up for the lost time. He had a great deal of writing on hand, and one evening he remained at the place until after nine o'clock.
As Nat had been indoors nearly all day, he resolved to walk home, just for the physical exercise and to get the fresh air. He started up Broadway, and was soon as far as Tenth Street. Here he attempted to cross the thoroughfare, but was stopped by a jam of cars and other vehicles.
"Let me alone!" he heard a boy not far off say. "Let me alone! I won't give you my money!"
"You've got to pay for the papers, country!" cried another boy. "Come, fork over the fifteen cents."
"It's all I've got."
"I don't care. Fork over, or I'll—I'll mash you!"
The voice of one of the boys sounded familiar, and stepping to a dark doorway, from whence the voices proceeded, Nat was amazed to find Fred Guff, and a New York newsboy who was a stranger.
"Fred!"
"Why, if it ain't Nat!" cried the farm boy. "Where did you spring from?"
"I think I had better ask you that question."
"I want me money!" came from the newsboy.
"Help me, Nat. He wants to get my money from me. It's the last fifteen cents I've got!" pleaded Fred.
"What do you want of the money?" demanded Nat, of the newsboy.
"Oh, it ain't none o' your business."
"I tried to help him sell papers," said Fred. "But I couldn't sell those he gave me, and now he wants me to pay for them, anyway."
"Did you agree to pay for them?"
"I said I'd pay for them if I sold them."
"Then you don't get any money," said Nat, sharply, to the newsboy. "Now let this boy alone, do you hear?"
"Ah! wait till I catch him alone," muttered the newsboy, and ran off around the corner.