"Yes, sir. You advertised that you would like somebody from the country, and that hits me."

"You came from the country to try your luck?"

"Yes, sir. I got tired of the farm."

Hamilton Dart smiled good-naturedly, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling of his office.

"I don't blame you. I got tired of the farm myself when I was about your age, and came here with less than a hundred dollars in my pocket."

"Well, I came with just a little more than that," answered Nat, innocently.

"Indeed! Then you are better off than I was. But I shan't complain, for I have made money right along. But what do you think I am worth now?"

"I don't know, I am sure—five or ten thousand dollars maybe."

"Nearly fifty thousand dollars," and Hamilton Dart looked at Nat, coolly and innocently.

"Fifty thousand!" cried the boy. "You've certainly been lucky. I wish I could make that much."

"You have the same opportunities that I had. Let me see, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't say. It is Nat Nason."

"I am glad to know you. You have a bright and honest face, and faces count a good deal with me."

This was gratifying to Nat, and he could not help but think that Mr. Dart was a pleasant gentleman with whom to deal.

"I advertised for a country young man because I was that myself once, and I like to help country young men along," continued Hamilton Dart. "You are out of work at present?"

"Yes, sir. I worked for a firm, but they sold out to another firm."

"I see. Have you any recommendations? Not that they are strictly necessary from one who looks so honest."

"I can refer you to the firm I worked for."

"That will be satisfactory, although I don't mind telling you that I am very particular in the selection of my clerks. So far I have rejected seventeen who applied."

"I should try my best to do what was right," answered Nat, modestly.

"That is the way I like to hear a person talk."

"Then you will take me?"

"We haven't agreed on terms yet. What do you expect in the way of salary?"

"I guess I'll leave that to you," answered Nat, after some hesitation.

"What did you get at your last place?"

"Seven dollars a week."

"Humph! Your employer was not very liberal. A clerk that is worth anything to me is worth ten dollars a week at least."

The mentioning of ten dollars made Nat's heart jump.

"If you'll pay me ten dollars a week, Mr. Dart, I'll do my level best to earn it."

"Do you write a fair hand?"

"Here is my handwriting," answered the boy, and wrote his name on a piece of paper.

"That is quite good—for a boy. I think you will improve by practice. Here you will have quite some writing to do, and bills to sort out. But the work will not be difficult, for the summer is our dull season."

"I see."

"By the way, I suppose you know I require a deposit of one hundred dollars from each of my clerks," went on Hamilton Dart, with assumed carelessness. "Sometimes my clerks have quite some money to handle for me."

"I can make that deposit," answered Nat. "Will I get a receipt for it?"

"To be sure, and I will also pay you six per cent. interest on the money. You can have it back whenever you leave my service. When can you make the deposit?"

"Right now, if you say so."

"Very well; I'll make out the receipt."

Hamilton Dart wrote out a receipt for a hundred dollars, and signed his name with a flourish. He passed it to Nat, and the boy handed him the hundred-dollar bill.

"You don't believe in carrying small bills," said the man, with an assumed smile.

"That is the only big bill I ever owned," was the answer.

Hamilton Dart pocketed the bill, and looked out of the window as if in deep thought.

"I was thinking you might go to work to-day, but perhaps it will be as well to go to work to-morrow," he said, after a pause. "Come at nine o'clock sharp."

"I will, sir."

"Then that is all for the present. I am sure we will get along very well together. To-morrow another clerk will be here to help you along."

Hamilton Dart turned to his desk, and began to write. Feeling himself dismissed, Nat said "good-morning," and bowed himself out. The man listened to his footsteps as he descended the stairs, and then gave a low chuckle.

"That was easy, Nick," he muttered. "Two so far. I wonder how many more fools I'll catch before the game plays out?"



CHAPTER XII

ON THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE

"Well, I've struck luck again," said Nat, when he arrived at his boarding place, and met Dick Talcott.

"Got a job?" questioned the newsboy.

"Yes."

"I hope you're going to get pretty good wages?"

"Ten dollars per week," answered Nat, with just a trace of pride in his voice.

"Ten dollars. That is luck. What at?"

"I'm in a broker's office, and I'm to do writing and sorting out bills."

"Where is the place?"

"Down on Broadway."

"I'm glad to hear of this, Nat," said the newsboy. "Wish I could strike something like that."

"Perhaps you will some day, Dick."

"The trouble is I can't write very well. I never had much schooling."

"If you wish, I'll teach you how to write. It always came easy to me."

"Will you teach me? I'll do my best to learn. We can go at it nights."

Early on the following morning, Nat presented himself at the office on Broadway. He had shined his shoes and brushed his clothes, and presented a very neat appearance. He found Hamilton Dart at his desk, and smoking as before.

"I wish you to go to the post office for me," said the man, as soon as he entered. "Go to the general delivery window and ask for letters for Samuel Barrows. That is my sick brother-in-law who is visiting me from Michigan."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course you know where the post office is?"

"Oh, yes. I've been past there several times."

"You needn't be in a hurry. Wait until they sort the eleven-o'clock mail."

"Yes, sir."

The distance to the post office was a considerable one. But Nat was a good walker, and found it was only half-past nine when he got there. To while away the time he determined to walk out on the Brooklyn Bridge and take in the sights from that elevated structure.

Making his way through the crowd on Park Row, he was soon out on the bridge, and walking in the direction of Brooklyn. There was a stiff breeze blowing, and several times his hat was almost lifted from his head.

Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a stout man running wildly after some papers which the wind was carrying along the walk on the bridge. The man secured one of the papers, but two others were fast blowing beyond his reach, when Nat rushed up and secured them just as they were on the point of being carried into the river.

"Have—you—got them?" puffed the man, as Nat came towards him.

"Yes, sir. Here you are," and Nat held out the papers.

"Good! I was afraid they were lost to me!" And the stranger heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

"Were they valuable?" asked our hero, curiously.

"Quite so. They are the legal documents in an important real estate case now before the courts. It was very kind of you to pick them up for me."

"Oh, it wasn't so much to do," answered Nat.

"Nevertheless, I am much obliged," added the stout man, warmly. "I shouldn't have come out on the bridge with them. But I love to get the breeze. I think it does me good. Much obliged;" and then he passed on.

"I guess he's a lawyer, or a real estate dealer," thought Nat. "Well, he ought to walk. It may take some of the fat off of him."

Nat walked half-way to Brooklyn, and then back again. Shortly after eleven o'clock he presented himself at the proper window of the post office.

"Has the eleven o'clock mail been sorted yet?" he asked.

"Certainly."

"Have you any letters for Samuel Barrows?"

The clerk looked through one of the boxes beside him.

"Nothing," he answered, briefly.

"Nothing at all?"

The post office clerk shook his head. Seeing this Nat walked away, and started back for the office.

He did not suspect that his employer had sent him to the post office merely to get him out of the office, yet such was the fact. Hamilton Dart had no brother-in-law named Samuel Barrows.

As a matter of fact, Hamilton Dart—that was not his real name, but let us use it for the present, nevertheless—was nothing but a swindler. He was worth only a few hundred dollars, and his brokerage and commission business was such in name only.

While Nat was on his post office errand, Hamilton Dart had two other callers. The first was a bright young man, hailing from Newark, New Jersey.

"I am sure you will suit me," said Hamilton Dart, after questioning the young man. "I am very much pleased with your appearance."

"Thank you," was the brief answer.

"You may go to work to-morrow at twelve dollars per week. Will that suit?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will, of course, put up one hundred dollars as security," added the assumed broker.

"What security will you give?" demanded the bright young man from Newark.

"Oh, I'll give you my personal note," answered Hamilton Dart, carelessly.

"Well, I'll think it over."

"Eh? I thought you wanted to accept on the spot?" demanded the swindler.

"No, sir," answered the young man. He intended to make some inquiries into Hamilton Dart's financial standing before investing his cash. "I'll come around again to-morrow morning."

"I shall give the place to somebody else before that time," was the cold response.

"If you do, I'll be out of it," was the equally cold answer of the young Jerseyman, and he walked out of the office.

"One fish I didn't land," muttered Hamilton Dart to himself. "Better luck next time."

Hardly had the young man left than a sickly-looking middle-aged man appeared. He had been in the hospital for two months, and out of work for twice that length of time.

"You advertised for a clerk," he said, sitting down on a chair.

"Yes."

"I am a bookkeeper, and an all-round office man," added the sick man. "I am willing to work hard for low wages."

"I am always willing to pay good wages to the right man," answered Hamilton Dart, smoothly.

At this the face of the sick man brightened.

"I have been sick," he went on, apologetically. "But I am getting stronger every day."

"Well, the work here is not very hard."

"What could you pay me?"

"Twelve dollars per week."

"That would suit me nicely."

"Then you can come to work to-morrow. But you will have to put up one hundred dollars as security. On that I will allow you six per cent. interest."

At this announcement the face of the sick man fell.

"I am very sorry, sir, but I haven't the money. My sickness has reduced me almost to my last dollar."

"Then I can't hire you," said Hamilton Dart, harshly.

"I can give you some excellent references, sir."

"No, I don't care for references. My clerks have to furnish cash security. I employ no others. You had better see if you can't raise the money."

"I don't know how I can do it."

"Haven't you any friends or relatives?"

"I have a sister in Brooklyn. She might possibly loan the amount."

"Then you had better see her. I will keep the place open for you for a couple of days."

The sick man pleaded to be taken on, but Hamilton Dart was obdurate, and at last the visitor left the office.

"Hang the luck; he must take me for a charity association," muttered the swindler. "Two lost! This business isn't paying as well as I hoped it would."

When Nat came back he was somewhat tired from his long tramp. He asked his employer what he should do next.

"Go and get your lunch, and be back in an hour," was the answer.

Hardly had Nat left the office than a young fellow named Harry Bray appeared. He had been in to see Hamilton Dart before and carried a hundred dollars in his vest pocket.

"I will take the position," he said, and handed over his money, which the swindler pocketed with alacrity.

"When shall I go to work?" asked Harry Bray.

"After lunch. You will have another new clerk to help you, a fellow named Nat Nason," answered Hamilton Dart.



CHAPTER XIII

A SWINDLE EXPOSED

When Nat came back from lunch he was introduced to Harry Bray, and Hamilton Dart brought forth several packages of old bills and letters and also a couple of cheap blank books.

"I want these things sorted out," said he. "Enter all names in the books, and file them away according to date."

This seemed easy work, and both of the young clerks said they understood what was wanted. Then Hamilton Dart put on his hat and left the office.

"I won't be back this afternoon," he said. "Lock up at five o'clock, and you, Bray, can take the key."

"Yes, sir," answered Harry Bray.

"This isn't very hard," was Nat's comment, when he was left alone with his fellow clerk.

"It is about as easy a job as I ever struck," answered Harry Bray.

"It's queer there are no customers coming in," said Nat, an hour later. "Mr. Dart must do most of his business outside."

"A good many brokers do, Nat. They have to hustle for business or they don't get any."

The afternoon passed, and at the proper time Nat left the office and went home.

"You've certainly struck a soft snap," said Dick, when the country boy had related his experience. "Wish I could strike a snap like that."

"Perhaps you will some day," answered Nat. "Come, I'll give you a lesson in writing and figures to-night," and he did. Dick was a bright scholar, so it proved a pleasure more than a task to teach him.

Promptly on time the following morning, Nat went to the office. At the door he met Harry Bray, who had just come in from his home on Staten Island. They opened up the office together, one doing the sweeping and the other the dusting.

"In most places like this, the office boy or the janitor does such work," said Harry.

"I don't mind it in the least," answered Nat.

"Oh, neither do I."

They began on their work where they had left off, and about an hour later their employer put in an appearance.

"Hard at it, eh?" he said, cheerily. "That's the way I like to see things move. Nat, I want you to go to the post office again."

"Yes, sir."

In a few minutes our hero had departed, and then Hamilton Dart turned to Harry Bray.

"Bray, here is an important document to deliver to a party living near Central Park," said he. "Deliver it, and get a receipt."

"I will, sir," answered Harry Bray, and in a minute more he, too, was gone.

An hour later there was a knock on the door, and the sick man, who had called the day before, came in.

"Is that situation still open?" he questioned, anxiously.

"Why do you ask?" demanded Hamilton Dart, abruptly.

"I was going to say that I borrowed that money from my sister."

"Oh! Have you it with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, if you wish the job, you can take it right now. Another man is coming to see me about it in an hour."

"I'll take the job," said Oliver Ripple, quickly, and brought forth his money. Hamilton Dart took it, and gave his usual receipt.

"What interest do I get on this?" asked the new clerk, anxiously.

"Six per cent."

"Thank you. I told my sister I thought as much. She had the money in the bank, but that only paid her three per cent. Six per cent. will be twice as good."

"You may come to work to-morrow morning at nine," said Hamilton Dart.

"I'll go to work to-day, if you say so, Mr. Dart."

"No, my other clerks can take care of the work to-day. Both of them are now out on errands."

When Oliver Ripple was gone, Hamilton Dart smiled broadly to himself.

"Three of them," he murmured. "That's not so bad, after all. I wonder if that chap who was to come at half-past ten will show up?"

When Nat left the post office he found no letters for Samuel Barrows.

"Mr. Dart will be disappointed again," he thought. "But it is not my fault."

The afternoon passed quietly. Only one man called at the office, and when he found Hamilton Dart was not in he disappeared immediately.

That evening Nat gave Dick another lesson, for which the newsboy was very grateful.

"No wonder you got that job," said Dick. "You can figure like lightning, and write fine, too."

"I don't have to figure much at the office."

"How do you like your boss?"

"I haven't really seen enough of him to make up my mind."

"He must be full of business."

"I suppose that is so."

When Nat went to the office on the following day he again met Harry Bray at the entrance. They went upstairs together, and found two men standing in the hallway, near the door of the office. As soon as they entered the place the men followed them.

"Neither of these young chaps is the man," said one of the newcomers, in a low voice.

"Where is Mr. Hamilton Dart?" asked the other.

"I can't say, sir," answered Harry Bray. "He may be here shortly."

"Are you a partner in this concern?"

"No, sir. I am a clerk."

"Are you a clerk, too?" asked the man, turning to Nat.

"Yes, sir. Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Don't know as there is, young man," was the short answer. "We'll wait here for Mr. Dart."

A half-hour passed and Oliver Ripple put in an appearance.

"Where is Mr. Dart?" he asked, gazing around.

"He is not here yet," answered Nat.

"I am his new clerk. He engaged me yesterday, and told me to come to work this morning."

At this speech the two men who had come in gazed at the sick man curiously.

"So you were engaged yesterday?" asked one in a low tone.

"Yes."

"Excuse me, but I'd like to know if you put up any money as security?"

"I did—a hundred dollars."

"Ah!" And each of the two men looked at his companion significantly.

"Do you know Mr. Dart?" asked the sick man.

"We know of him."

"He does quite a business, doesn't he?"

"He does—in his own way," was the suggestive answer.

At that moment came a tramping on the stairs. Then the office door was thrown open, and Hamilton Dart appeared.

"There he is!" cried one of the men. "Just as I thought!"

He started for the doorway, but Hamilton Dart was too quick for him. He backed away, leaped for the stairs, and went down flight after flight, four and five steps at a time. Both men gave chase, but by the time they reached the sidewalk the swindler had disappeared.

"Hullo! what can this mean?" cried Nat, in quick alarm. "I must say I don't like this."

"Those men are after Mr. Dart," came from Harry Bray.

"You mind the office—I'll see what is up," went on Nat, and followed down the stairs.

"He is gone, Parsons," said one of the men.

"You are sure it was our man?"

"Yes, confound the luck. He got away like a slippery eel."

"Did Mr. Dart run away from you?" asked Nat.

"That's what he did, young man."

"What did he run for?"

"Perhaps you know as well as I do."

"No, I don't."

"How long have you worked for that man?"

"Only a few days."

"What about that other chap upstairs?"

"He came to work about the time I did."

"And that pale-looking man, too?"

"I don't know any more about him than you do."

"Did you place any money in your employer's hands?"

"Yes, a hundred dollars. And Harry Bray, the other clerk, put up the same amount."

"Humph! I reckon you've seen the last of your cash."

"What!" cried Nat, aghast. "Do you mean that?"

"I sure do."

"But—but——" Our hero was so staggered he could not continue for the moment.

"This Hamilton Dart—or whatever he calls himself—is a first-class swindler."

"A swindler!" Nat fell up against the doorway. "I—I—then my money is gone?"

"More than likely."

"Oh, what a fool I've been! And I thought he was such a gentleman."

"He has fooled lots of folks besides you, young man," said one of the men, kindly, for he saw that Nat was hard hit.

"He isn't a business man at all?"

"He is a confidence man from Chicago."

By this time, feeling certain something was wrong, Harry Bray and Oliver Ripple came below.

"What do you mean by confidence man?" asked Nat, doubtfully.

"He is a swindler; one of the kind that can tell a good story in order to get your money."

"Who is a swindler?" demanded Harry Bray.

"Our employer," cried Nat. "He has run away with our money."

"Has Mr. Dart run away?" asked the sick man, nervously.

"Yes."

"Oh! And to think I borrowed that money from my poor sister!" came with a cry of anguish, and then the sick man sank on the hallway stairs, thoroughly overcome.



CHAPTER XIV

NAT OBTAINS ANOTHER SITUATION

"How is it that you know so much about this man?" asked Nat, after he had collected his thoughts.

"I am a police official from Chicago," answered one of the two men who had tried to catch Hamilton Dart. "We have been on this rascal's trail for some time."

"Is Hamilton Dart his real name?"

"No; his real name is Nick Smithers. He is a sly rogue."

"Do you think there is any chance of catching him?" asked Harry Bray. "I cannot afford to lose my money."

"Nor I," added our hero.

"I must have my money back!" groaned the sick man. "What will my sister say? She got it out of the bank only yesterday!"

"I wish I could help you," said the Chicago police official. "We'll do what we can."

All went back to the office, and the janitor of the building was called in.

"Sure, an' Mr. Dart has had the office only about a week," said the janitor. "He hasn't paid the rent yet. He said he was in the habit of payin' in the middle of the month."

"Then the owner of this building is out of pocket, too," said one of the men from the West.

An examination was made of the desk used by the swindler, but nothing of value was found. The letters and bills were of no consequence, and the blank books were not worth twenty-five cents each.

"Let us go to the police station," said the men, and they went off, followed by the sick man.

"This is the worst yet," remarked Nat, as he dropped into the one easy chair of which the office boasted. "And I thought I was so smart. I'm a regular greeny, if ever there was one!" And he shook his head bitterly.

"I'm in the same boat," responded his fellow victim. "My father will be pretty mad when he hears of this. He lent me the money, and I assured him it would be perfectly safe."

"I used my own money, but it was almost the last dollar I had," said our hero, soberly. At that moment his heart felt like a lump of lead in his bosom.

"What do you suppose we can do about it?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Do you know where this Hamilton Dart, alias Nick Smithers, lived?"

"No."

"To look for him in a big city like this will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"More than likely he won't stay in this city. He may be miles away already. He didn't want to see those men from Chicago."

They talked the matter over for an hour, at the end of which time a detective from headquarters came to interview them. The detective took charge of the office, and that seemed to be the end of the affair.

"Give me your addresses," said the detective to Nat and his fellow clerk. "If we hear anything we will let you know," and so it was arranged.

Nat felt very much downcast when he arrived at his boarding house that evening. Mrs. Talcott was not long in noticing it.

"You seem to be in trouble, Nat," said she kindly, for she had taken quite a fancy to the country lad. "Can I help you in any way?"

"I don't know," he answered, bluntly. "I've gone and made a big fool of myself."

"In what way?" asked she in astonishment.

"I thought I was smart, but I'm a regular country greeny. I let a man swindle me out of nearly every dollar I possessed."

"That is certainly too bad, Nat. How did it happen?"

For answer our hero made a clean breast of the whole matter. While he was telling his tale, Dick came in, and he was likewise told.

"And you mean to say that you lost the whole hundred dollars!" ejaculated the newsboy. "That's awful, Nat!"

"I wish I could get hold of that Nick Smithers. I'd—I'd wring his neck for him!"

"It won't do any good to look for him. I know his kind. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow. Those chaps work their schemes all over the States."

Nat was in no humor to eat supper, and scarcely touched a mouthful. Mrs. Talcott and Dick did all they could to cheer him up.

"Make the best of it," said the newsboy. "You'll be sure to strike something good sooner or later."

"I guess I'm too much of a greeny to do that," answered Nat.

That night when our hero went to bed he could not sleep. His ready money was running low, and how to turn he did not know. Bitterly he upbraided himself for having trusted Nick Smithers, but this did no good. His money was gone, and it was doubtful if he would ever see a cent of it again.

"I ought to go back on the farm where I belong," he muttered. "I'm not smart enough to get along in a city like New York."

But by morning his thoughts took a turn, and at breakfast his eyes were as bright and expectant as ever.

"I'm going out and get something to do," he said firmly. "And I'm not going to let anybody get the best of me again."

"Do not worry," said Mrs. Talcott. "You can stay here, even if you don't get anything right away. I'll trust you for the board."

"You are very kind," answered Nat, gratefully. "But I can't stand it to do nothing."

All of that day he tramped up one street and down another looking for a situation, but without success.

He could have had one job as an errand boy, but the wages offered were but two dollars per week.

"I can't take that," he said. "I've got to support myself even if I can't do better."

On the next day it rained, but he went out, nevertheless, with an umbrella which Mrs. Talcott loaned him.

He had several advertisements, taken from the morning papers, and lost no time in applying at first one place and then another.

The third place offered on his list was in a big office building down near the corner of Broadway and Park Row. When Nat arrived there he found half a dozen young fellows ahead of him.

"You will all have to wait until Mr. Garwell arrives," said a clerk to the crowd. "I expect him any moment."

"Hope he don't keep us too long," grumbled one of those who were waiting. "I don't want to lose the chance of another job if I can't get this."

"You need not wait at all if you don't care to," said the clerk.

Two others came in, and the outer office was comfortably filled, when a stout gentleman walked in quickly, and gave a glance around.

"Hum!" said he, when his eyes fell upon Nat, and he looked at our hero more closely. Nat at once recognized the newcomer as the gentleman he had met on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"How are you, young man," said the gentleman.

"Very well, sir," answered Nat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see about the position that was advertised."

"Ah, indeed!" The gentleman gave Nat another look. "Come inside."

"Yes, sir," and our hero quickly followed him to an inner office. Here the gentleman hung up his hat, and sank down in an easy chair at a desk. "Take a seat. I suppose you remember meeting me?" This was said with a little smile.

"Oh, yes, sir; on the bridge."

"You did me a good turn, and I've not forgotten it. So you want a job, eh? What's your name, and where are you from?"

Nat told him, and also told the gentleman some of his experiences since arriving in the metropolis. John Garwell listened with interest.

"I fancy I can give you an opening," said he. "Here, write a few lines on this sheet of paper." Nat did so. "A very good hand. How much do you want to start on?"

"Enough to support myself, Mr. Garwell."

"That's a fair answer. Can you live on seven dollars a week?"

"I can live on less than that."

"Some young men want a fortune to start on. Yesterday a young man called here for an opening. He had had no experience, yet he wanted not less than twenty dollars a week."

"I guess you didn't engage him," said Nat, with a smile.

"I did not. Well, I'll give you a trial, at seven dollars a week. If you prove satisfactory I'll give you eight dollars at the end of three months, and ten dollars at the end of the first year."

"Thank you, very much."

"You can go to work at once." Mr. Garwell touched a push-button on his desk, and a clerk appeared. "Wilson, this is the new clerk, Nat Nason. You can show him his duties. And tell those others that are waiting that the position is filled."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait a minute, Nason. Wilson, you can go."

The clerk disappeared, closing the door behind him.

"I just wished to say a word about what you did for me the other day."

"Oh, that's all right."

"Here is a five-dollar bill for a reward."

"But I don't want any reward, Mr. Garwell. It was nice of you to give me the position."

"Didn't you just own up that you were short of funds?"

"Yes, sir, but——"

"That's all right. Take the money. And now let me tell you something as a friend."

"Yes, sir."

"I like my clerks to look neat and clean at all times. It pays to look that way. Never come down to the office with a dirty collar, or with dirty shoes."

"I'll remember that."

"I don't ask you to dress in the topmost style, or be a dude. But keep yourself neat and clean."

"I will, sir."

"Then that is all. If anything doesn't go right in the office don't hesitate to let me know."



CHAPTER XV

ABNER AND THE WIDOW GUFF

It was with a light heart that Nat went to work for Mr. John Garwell. He felt that his employer was a man to be trusted, and one who would do the best he could for those under him.

"It was a lucky thing for me that I took that walk on the Brooklyn Bridge," he reasoned. "Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten the job otherwise."

The clerk, Wilson, proved kind and considerate, and under him our hero learned rapidly.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd strike luck," said Dick. "Now, all you've got to do is to nurse that job carefully, and you'll be at the top of the firm some day."

"Well, I am going to nurse it as carefully as I can," laughed Nat.

When our hero had time he went to the police headquarters to see if anything had been learned of Nick Smithers.

"Nothing yet," said the officer in charge. "But I think he'll be run down sooner or later."

"I'd like to run him down myself."

"I've no doubt you would."

Nat had been working for Mr. Garwell about a week when he received another letter from Sam Price. Sam wrote, in part, as follows:

"Since I sent my last letter, there have been great changes at your uncle's farm. He has discharged the housekeeper, and some say he is courting the Widow Guff. For all I know they'll be married pretty soon. More than that, I heard somebody say that he was thinking of coming to New York to look for you."

Nat read this communication with close attention. He knew the Widow Guff as a person who took boarders in the town where he had sold his cow. She had three children, and had the reputation of being a rather tart and self-willed woman.

"I shouldn't think Uncle Abner would want to marry that widow," thought Nat. "Wonder what put it into his head? And what put it into his head to come to New York to look for me? I'd rather he would keep his distance."

Nat did not know that for the past few months the Widow Guff had had a hard time of it with a number of her boarders, and could scarcely make both ends meet, yet such was a fact.

One day the widow called on a friend, and from this friend learned that Abner Balberry had discharged his housekeeper, and was keeping house by himself.

"It's a shame for him to be all alone," thought the widow. "And with that nephew of his away, too! Some good woman ought to be keeping house for him."

The widow had long had her eye on Abner Balberry, whom she knew fairly well. She knew Abner was well-to-do, and keeping a boarding house seemed of a sudden a great burden to her.

"Wish I could make Abner propose," she said to herself. "He just ought to have a wife."

So the widow kept on thinking, and by and by her face brightened. She had an idea, which she resolved to put into execution the very first opportunity.

"Fred," said she to her son, a tall gawk of a boy, "I want you to go to Mr. Abner Balberry's house, and ask him if he will stop in and see me the first time he comes to town."

"Wot do yer want, ma?" drawled Fred.

"Never mind, Fred. Just ask him to call. Say I'd like a little advice from him."

Fred shuffled off on his errand, and found Nat's uncle down in the henhouse, searching for eggs.

"Ma wants you to come and see her," said the youth.

"Wants me to come an' see her?" queried Nat's uncle.

"Yep."

"What for?"

"Dunno. Said she'd like some advice."

"All right; I'll come," said Abner.

That afternoon, after milking, he arrayed himself in his best, and drove over to the widow's boarding house. He was glad to make the visit, for since discharging his housekeeper he had found life on the farm rather lonely.

The widow greeted him warmly, and asked him into her parlor, closing the doors, so that nobody might interrupt them. She seemed somewhat embarrassed.

"Fred told me that you would like to see me," commenced Nat's uncle.

"Yes, Abner, I do; but I'm afraid you'll think it strange of me—at least of what I have to say to you."

"Oh, that's all right, Lucy; you know you kin trust me," he replied.

"Suppose,"—the widow cast down her eyes,—"mind, I am only supposing a case—suppose a person should find a pot full of gold pieces in an old well, would the law have a right to touch it, or would it belong to the finder?"

At the mention of a pot of gold, Abner Balberry became exceedingly interested. As we know, he was very miserly, and he realized that a pot of gold would be worth a good deal of money.

"A pot of gold, Lucy," he said. "Why, unquestionably, the law would have nothing to do with it."

"Could the one who had owned the house years before, or lived in the place, come forward and claim it?"

"No, Lucy; I think not."

"Thank you, very much, Abner, for your advice. The—er—question just came into my—er—mind, and I wanted to satisfy myself; that's all."

"Certainly, widow, certainly," answered Nat's uncle. He wanted to ask some questions, but did not dare.

"Now you are here, you must take supper with me," went on the Widow Guff.

"Thank you, Lucy, you are very kind——"

"I know you haven't any housekeeper any more, and nobody to cook for you. Yes, stay by all means."

The widow was a fairly good cook, and Nat's uncle ate with a relish all that was offered to him, ending with a piece of berry pie which was particularly fine. He spent a social hour after the meal, and then drove home in a thoughtful mood.

"Is it possible that the widow really found a pot of gold in the well?" he thought. "She didn't really say so, but it was mighty odd for her to ask me such questions. I'll have to look into this a bit." And then he got to thinking that the widow was not such a bad-looking woman after all, and a wife with a pot of gold would be a very nice thing to possess.

About a week later Abner Balberry had occasion to go to town, to draw a little money from the bank, with which to pay for a cow he had purchased. He was passing the widow's home when she came out on the piazza and nodded to him.

"Good-morning," she said.

"Good-morning," he returned, and stopped for a chat. During the course of the conversation he mentioned his errand, and she said she was going to the bank too. He asked her to ride to the institution, and she accepted the invitation. When they arrived there he told her he would wait until she was through. Then he went around to a side window of the bank, where he might hear what took place.

The widow tripped up to the window.

"Can you give me change for a ten-dollar gold piece?" she asked.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Guff," was the answer, and the change for the gold piece was immediately forthcoming.

"By the way," went on the widow, "the bank is in quite a flourishing condition, is it not?"

"We are doing finely, yes."

"And you receive deposits, do you not?"

"Of course."

"Do you receive as high as—as five thousand dollars?"

"No," answered the cashier, in some surprise. "Three thousand dollars from one depositor is our limit. Do you know of anybody who——"

"It's of no consequence," interrupted the widow, hurriedly. "I only asked out of curiosity. How much interest do you pay?"

"Four per cent. on the first thousand and three per cent. on the remainder."

"Thank you, and much obliged for the change. Good-morning," and the Widow Guff tripped out lightly and hurried up the street.

Abner Balberry had overheard every word and his face was a study as he went into the bank to draw what he wanted, thirty dollars.

"Jest had the Widow Guff here, didn't you?" he said, lightly.

"Yes, Mr. Balberry." The cashier paused. "Do you know if anybody has left her money lately?" he continued.

"Not that I know on? Why?"

"Oh, she was asking what rate of interest we paid, and if we took as high as five thousand dollars."

"I see. Well, I don't know nothin' about it," and Abner Balberry pocketed his money and his bank book, and walked out after the widow.

If he had been in deep thought before he was more so now. Was it possible that the widow had found five thousand dollars?

"She changed a ten-dollar piece," he reasoned. "I reckon I kin see through a millstone when there's a hole through it. Tell ye what, a widder with five thousand in gold ain't to be sneezed at! I wonder if anybody else knows o' this? Hope they don't!"

That evening the farmer sat up till late, thinking the situation over. He did not wish for a wife so much, but he did wish to get his hands on that pot of gold.

"If I want her I'll have to propose before some other feller hears o' this," he told himself.

The farmer made it his business to go to town two days later, and drove past the widow's house very slowly. She saw him from a window, and nodded and smiled.

This was encouraging, and on returning from his errand, he tied up in front of the place, and rang the bell.

"Oh, Abner, I am delighted to see you!" said the widow, on coming to the door. "Come in."

"Thank you, Lucy," he answered, and entered the parlor.

"It was so good of you to come," she simpered. "I wanted somebody to talk to."

"Anything special?" he asked, curiously.

"I have received notice to leave this house. I guess Mr. Haskell, the owner, wishes it for himself." She did not add that her rent was about due, and she did not know how to meet the payment.

"Where do you think of going, widow?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Abner. I haven't a single place. You know I'm all alone in the world."

She looked at him fondly, and he at once fell into the trap.

"Better come an' live with me, Lucy."

"Oh, Abner! What do you mean?"

"I mean that I think a heap o' you, Lucy, an' I'd like you fer my wife. I know as how we could git along fine together," answered Nat's uncle, earnestly. Just then that pot of gold seemed almost within his reach.

The widow blushed, and pretended to be greatly surprised.

"I—I never dreamed of this, Abner!" she whispered. "It's—it's so sudden."

"But you ain't goin' to say no, are you?"

"Well, I—I——" She blushed again. "I must say I like you a great deal, Abner."

"Then say yes."

"Well, I will," declared the widow, and then she allowed him to kiss her. Abner felt very happy, and asked her to set the day at once.

"Bein' as you're to git out o' this house, you might as well give up the boarders, an' come to my house at once," he said.

The widow consented, and said she would marry him in ten days. He drove home almost in a dream, and at once had the house put in order, and actually bought himself a new suit of clothes and a new hat.

"It's a good bit o' money to spend," he reasoned. "But I've got to do the proper thing, or she won't feel like lettin' go o' that gold."

When the time came, they were married in the local church, and then he drove her home. Her furniture had already arrived. She at once took possession of the place, and began to set things to rights.

"I won't ask her about that pot o' gold jest yet," mused Abner. "I'll have to wait a few days at least."



CHAPTER XVI

ABNER VISITS NEW YORK

Several days passed, and Nat's uncle did all in his power to please his new wife. He found her very tart at times, and inclined to have her own way, but she was a good cook and general housekeeper, and that counted for a great deal.

"It won't do to cross her," he told himself. "I've got to find out about thet gold first."

At last he could stand the suspense no longer and so, one day, while at the dinner table, he told the story of a rich find of money by a lady in Philadelphia.

"It was in the weekly paper," said he, "and by the way," he went on, "what about the pot of gold you found?"

"The pot of gold I found?" she repeated, blankly.

"Yes, the one you found in the well. What did you do with it?"

"Why, I never found any pot of gold in a well, Abner! What put that in your head?"

He shoved back his chair in horror, and gazed at her blankly.

"Didn't you tell me you had found a pot of gold in a well, Lucy?" he demanded.

"Never!"

"Certainly, you did. You asked me if you could keep it or if the law could take it from you. I told you the law couldn't touch it."

"Oh, I remember now!" she answered, sweetly. "I read about such a find in a story magazine, and I was wondering if the finder could keep it, or if it would have to be turned over to the person who owned the property on which the well was located. But I certainly never said anything about my finding a pot of gold."

"Well, I'll be jiggered! Didn't you go to the bank an' ask 'em if they would take five thousand dollars?"

"Oh, I was only curious to know how much they would take, that was all, Abner." And she smiled again.

Abner could not endure that smile, and pushing back his chair still further, he arose and left the house. Once in the barn he shook his fist viciously at an imaginary enemy.

"Of all the fools!" he muttered. "I've been tuk in clean an' clear! She ain't got no pot o' gold, an' never did have! If this ain't jest the worst yet. Abner Balberry, you ought to be kicked full o' holes, and ducked in the pond besides!"

He felt in no mental condition to go back to the house, and so did not return until it was time for supper. He found a good meal awaiting him, and his wife on hand as pert as ever.

"What made you run off?" she demanded. "It wasn't a nice way to do."

"You fooled me about thet pot o' gold," he answered, bluntly.

"I never did, and I want you to stop talking about it, Abner Balberry."

This was said so sharply it fairly made him jump.

"Eh?"

"Did you marry me simply for my money?" she demanded, coming up to him with her hands on her hips.

"N—no!" he stammered.

"Well, then, stop talking about a pot o' gold. I haven't any, and neither have you."

"Ain't you got no money o' your own, Lucy?"

"If I have I'm going to keep it to myself," she answered. "Come to supper."

He sat down and ate in silence. The next day he wanted to speak about money again, but she cut him short.

"I don't want to hear about it," she said, tartly. "I'm your wife, and I am going to do my share, keeping house and helping around. And you have got to do your share, and treat me fairly. I once heard that the first Mrs. Balberry didn't get all that was coming to her—that she had to wear the same dress and bonnet for years. Now, I want to say, right now, that isn't my style. When I want a new dress I want it, and you are going to give it to me."

"Am I?" he said, slowly.

"Yes, you are, Abner Balberry, and if I want spending money you have got to give me that, too. If you don't, I'll quit work and won't do a blessed thing around the house. So there!"

She spoke with such vigor that it made him groan. He felt it in his bones that she meant to have her way.

"I am a-goin' to do my duty," he said, humbly.

"You'd better. If you don't——" and she ended with a shake of her head that meant a great deal.

"She's bound to have her way," he told himself later. "I've got to git used to it, I suppose. Drat the luck, anyway. I wish I had never heard o' thet pot o' gold!"

In a roundabout fashion Abner Balberry had heard that Nat had gone to Buffalo, and then he learned through a man who had been to New York that his nephew was in the metropolis. Abner had often longed to visit New York, and here he saw his opportunity to do so.

"I'm a-goin' to New York," he announced one day, shortly after the pot of gold incident.

"What are you going to do there?" asked his wife.

"I'm a-goin' to look fer Nat. I've heard he's down there, an' I want to save him from goin' to destruction."

"Better leave him where he is," said the new wife, who did not fancy another of her husband's people around the farm.

"No, I'm a-goin' to hunt him up. I feel it's my duty to do it."

"Then, if you go to New York, you have got to take me along, Abner."

"Take you along, Lucy?"

"Yes. I've always wanted to go to New York. Fred can take care of the farm while we are gone." Fred and the other Guff children had been installed on the place, but none of them had proved of much assistance. Fred, himself, was decidedly lazy—not half as willing as Nat, so Abner himself admitted.

"I don't see how I can take you, Lucy. It costs a heap to go to New York."

"Well, if you can spend the money on yourself, you can spend it on me, too," she answered, calmly.

"But it's my duty to go—to save Nat from goin' to the dogs."

"You didn't bother about Nat when you were courting me."

"I didn't know where he was, exactly."

"Pooh! Well, if you go you must take me. If you don't, you won't find me or the things when you get back."

This rather alarmed the miserly farmer, and he was half afraid she might sell off all his belongings, and clear out.

"All right, you shall go," he said, at last. "But it's goin' to cost a terrible sight o' money," he added, with a long sigh.

It was decided that they should start for New York on the following Monday morning. Mrs. Balberry had relatives at Rochester, and they made arrangements to stop over at that point for one night, for neither the farmer or his spouse wished to take a berth in a sleeping car.

"It's money thrown away," said Abner, "an', besides, who kin sleep with a car runnin' fifty miles an hour? If there was an accident a feller would be killed before he woke up!"

Mrs. Balberry's son, Fred, grumbled greatly at having to run the farm during their absence, and the mother had to promise the lad fifty cents a day for the extra work.

"It's an outrage," declared Abner, when he heard of this. "He ain't worth his keep!"

"He is my son, and you have no right to abuse him!" declared the new wife, and then the farmer found it best to say no more. He was discovering that his wife had a sharp tongue, and could use it on the slightest provocation.

Not to go to the expense of buying meals on the train, they provided themselves with a basket full of food, and set off bright and early at the time appointed. The run to Rochester was without incident, and Mrs. Balberry's relatives there treated them kindly. Then, on Tuesday, they took another train for New York, and late in the afternoon found themselves at the Grand Central Depot.

"It's a fearfully crowded place," was Abner Balberry's comment, as he gazed around.

"Which way are we to go, Abner?" asked his wife, and now she clung to him, for the bustle and noise frightened her.

"Let's git out on the street, where I kin have a look around," he answered, and pulled her along through the crowd. A boy wanted to take his carpet bag, but he shook the urchin off.

Fortunately, while at Rochester, the farmer had heard of a hotel which I shall call the Callac House, located but a few blocks from the station. A policeman directed the pair to this place, and here Abner Balberry succeeded in getting a room for a dollar and a half a night.

"Steep, ain't it?" he remarked, when he and his wife had been taken to the room, on the seventh floor.

"Steep? I should say it was, Abner—the seventh story! It's dreadful! I know I shan't sleep—thinking of what to do in case of a fire!"

"I meant the price. I don't care how high up it is."

"Will they give us meals for that, too?"

"No, the meals is extry."

"It's 'most a waste of money, I must say."

"Well, I had to pay it, an' so there ain't no use to talk about it. Let's go to bed, an' git our money's worth, an' in the mornin' I'll look fer Nat."



CHAPTER XVII

A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

On the day that Abner Balberry started for New York to look for Nat, our hero was called into Mr. Garwell's private office.

"Nat, how would you like to take a run down to Trenton with me?" asked the gentleman, pleasantly.

"I'd like it first-rate, Mr. Garwell," was the prompt answer.

"Very well, we'll go in half an hour. I wish to look up certain records concerning some property."

"When will we be back, Mr. Garwell?"

"Oh, some time this evening," answered the gentleman.

It may be mentioned here that John Garwell was a real estate broker. He handled only high-class properties, and chiefly those used for business purposes. He had started years before in a modest way, but was now fairly well-to-do, and his business was steadily increasing. He had taken a great fancy to Nat, and was wondering if he could not use the lad as a private secretary.

"I'd do it in a minute if the boy knew shorthand and typewriting," he told himself. "Perhaps I can get him to learn those branches."

At the appointed time our hero was ready for the trip to Trenton. His employer had stuffed a valise full of legal papers, and Nat took possession of the bag.

"Be careful of that valise," cautioned Mr. Garwell. "The contents are very valuable."

"I'll look out for it," was the answer.

They walked to the ferry, and there took a boat to Jersey City, and then boarded a train bound for the capital city of New Jersey. Mr. Garwell had obtained seats in a parlor car, and the elegant furnishings impressed Nat deeply.

"These cars are like palaces," he said.

"They are certainly comfortable," was his employer's response.

On the trip to Trenton Mr. Garwell asked Nat much about himself, and at last the boy told his tale from beginning to end.

"I don't suppose you care to go back to the farm," said Mr. Garwell, with a quiet smile.

"No, sir, I want to stay in New York. I believe there is more of a future here for me than on the farm."

"Possibly that is true. You had positively nothing to do with that fire at your uncle's barn?"

"No, sir—I didn't even have a light around the place."

"But you saw somebody near by."

"Yes, sir. I thought it was my uncle."

"It must have been a tramp."

"Just what I think, Mr. Garwell."

"And you think your uncle is coming to New York to look for you?"

"He'll come, if the carfare doesn't scare him off. He is a very close man."

"Hum!" The real estate broker mused for a moment. "Well, if he comes, supposing you let me know? Maybe I can persuade him to allow you to remain in the city."

At this Nat's face brightened.

"Oh, Mr. Garwell, will you do that? I suppose, as my guardian, he has a legal right to order me back to the farm."

"We'll have to see about that. But he hasn't found you yet."

"That is true."

"You ought to let him know that you are well, and have a position. You need not give him your address."

"I'll write the letter to-morrow."

"Was your father a farmer?"

"Yes, sir, although when he was a young fellow like myself he lived in Brooklyn. His father and his grandfather were both born in New York."

"I see. Then you have city blood in your veins. That may account for your liking New York so much."

In a short time after the conversation came to an end, Trenton was reached, and calling a cab, Mr. Garwell had himself and Nat driven to one of the public buildings.

Here both spent some time in looking over legal records, and one of the records Nat had to copy off in pencil for his employer. After this, came a visit to a lawyer's office, and Nat was sent on a short errand.

When the business in Trenton was over, both found they had two hours to wait before they could get a train for home.

"Let us go and get a lunch," said Mr. Garwell, and led the way to a fine restaurant in that vicinity.

The real estate broker was on the point of entering the eating place when a child of five ran up to him, exclaiming:

"Papa, I want you to buy me some candy, please."

Now, as it happened, Mr. Garwell was a bachelor, so he was taken much by surprise, and so was our hero.

"Did you speak to me, my dear?" he asked, kindly.

"Why, yes, papa," answered the little one, readily.

"But I am not your father, child," and the real estate broker began to flush up.

"Oh, yes, you are!" came from the child.

"No. What is your name?"

At this the child laughed heartily.

"What a funny papa you are, to ask me my name. But won't you buy me the candy? Please, do," went on the little one, pleadingly.

"What a funny mistake," said Mr. Garwell to Nat.

"Don't you know the little girl?"

"Not in the least."

"Get the candy!" cried the child, petulantly.

"All right, I'll get you some candy, only don't call me papa," answered the real estate broker. And he slipped into a candy shop, and purchased some chocolates. He had just passed the confectionery over, when a middle-aged lady hurried up.

"Oh, mamma, see the candy papa bought me!" cried the little girl, gleefully.

"You shouldn't have bought her so much candy, Horace," said the lady to Mr. Garwell, severely. "Chocolates make Lulu sick."

Being thus addressed, John Garwell turned redder than ever.

"Excuse me, madam," he stammered. "I—er—this is a mistake. My name is not Horace."

"Not Horace. The idea!"

"My name is John—John Garwell, and I am from New York."

At this answer the lady looked perplexed, and then indignant.

"Horace, quit your fooling!" she said, coldly.

"I am not fooling, madam."

"Oh, such a man! Perhaps you'll say next that I am not your wife!" continued the lady, with a black look.

"You certainly are not my wife, for I am a bachelor, madam," and now Mr. Garwell began to grow more embarrassed than ever, while Nat was completely mystified.

"Not my husband? Oh, you wretch, to say such a thing!" The lady turned to the child. "Lulu, who is this?"

"Why, that's papa," answered the little girl, promptly.

"Now, Horace, do you hear that?"

"I—I heard what she said," answered the real estate broker, feebly. "But—but——"

"If you are not her father, why did you buy her candy?"

"Just to keep her from calling me papa."

"Indeed! Did you want to bribe her? Oh, Horace, this is infamous! I—I—have you lost your mind?"

"No, but I think you and this child have."

At this the lady stared, and gave a gasp. She fainted, and would have fallen to the pavement had not Nat caught and supported her. Instantly a crowd began to collect.

"What's the trouble here?" asked one.

"The gentleman's wife has fainted," answered another.

"Excuse me, but she is not my wife," said John Garwell. "I don't know her."

"Certainly, she is your wife," cried a bystander. "I've seen you together lots of times, Mr. Mann."

"Wait," put in Nat. "Did you call this gentleman Mr. Mann?"

"Yes, and that's his name."

"You are mistaken. This gentleman is Mr. John Garwell."

"Go on with you, I know Mr. Mann too well to believe such a yarn."

"I don't care what you say, this gentleman is Mr. John Garwell, and he is from New York City."

"Then he has been playing a part here in Trenton, where he is known as Horace Q. Mann," said the bystander.

By this time the lady was coming to her senses. She clutched at the real estate broker.

"Take me home!" she murmured. "Oh, this is too much!"

"Better take her home," said several.

"I don't even know where she lives," answered John Garwell, blankly.

"She lives at 19 Hallock Street," said a boy in the crowd. "I'll show you the place, mister."

"Why not take her and the little girl home?" suggested Nat. "Perhaps you can clear up this mystery there?"

"All right, I will," answered his employer. "Nat, call a coach. I'm going to see this affair through. It's the oddest thing I ever had happen to me."

The coach was called, and the lady and the girl got in, and John Garwell and Nat followed.

"I knew you were coming home to-day from that trip to Washington," said the lady, with a tearful look in her face, "but I never dreamed you would act this way, Horace."

"Madam, will you answer me one question. Have you a husband who went to Washington?"

"Oh, Horace!"

Seeing he could make no headway, Mr. Garwell became silent. Inside of ten minutes they reached 19 Hallock Street, and the coach came to a halt. A servant let them into the mansion. As she did this she stared at the real estate broker and gave a low cry of surprise.

"Why, I—er—I thought Mr. Mann was in the library!" she stammered. "I didn't know he went out to meet you, Mrs. Mann."

"Let us go to the library," said John Garwell.

The lady of the house was willing, and hurried hither, followed by her daughter, the real estate broker, and Nat. As they entered, a gentleman who had been seated in an arm-chair, reading a book, arose to meet them.

"Well, Clara, I'm back," he said, cheerily.

"Oh!" screamed the lady, and fainted again, and not without good reason, for before her stood a gentleman who was almost the exact facsimile of Mr. Garwell in face, form, and general appearance.

"Why, which one of you is my papa?" cried little Lulu.

"I'm your papa!" answered the gentleman of the house. "Why—er—who—who is this?" he stammered, looking at John Garwell.

"Let us attend to your wife first," was the answer, and soon the lady of the house was restored to her senses. Then began a series of explanations.

"It was dreadful of me to make such a mistake," said Mrs. Mann, hysterically. "But—but——"

"I don't wonder at it—now," answered John Garwell. "Your husband could pass for my twin brother."

"I can hardly tell one from the other, myself," said Nat.

"Never mind; he bought me some candy," put in little Lulu, and this made all laugh.

"I am going to ask you to do something," said John Garwell, to Horace Mann. "I think you owe it to me to walk down town, so that your fellow citizens can see that there are really two of us."

"Yes, Horace," pleaded his wife. "I made a lot of trouble for Mr. Garwell."

Horace Mann agreed readily, and soon he and the real estate broker and Nat left the residence. On the main streets of Trenton many stopped to stare after them. Among the number was the man who had spoken to Mr. Garwell, and insisted that the real estate broker was Mr. Mann.

"I apologize," said the man, promptly. "But I reckon you'll admit the resemblance is simply wonderful."

"I do admit it," was the answer. "Still, that doesn't make me anybody but myself."

Horace Mann insisted upon taking John Garwell and Nat to dinner, and treated them to the best the restaurant afforded.

"After this I'm going to wear a badge, so my wife will know me," said the Trenton man. "And I'll never dare to come to New York, for fear of being taken for you."



CHAPTER XVIII

NAT MEETS HIS UNCLE

"Nat, if you wish to do me a favor, do not mention this affair to anybody in New York," said John Garwell, when the pair were on the train, bound for the metropolis.

"I won't say a word, sir."

"There was nothing wrong about it, but I don't want my friends to make a laughing stock of me," added the bachelor.

"I shall never mention it to anybody," returned our hero, and it may be added here that he never did. The matter was also hushed up in Trenton, so nothing more was heard of it.

Our hero was kept very busy for a day or two after his trip into New Jersey. Part of his time was spent over some books, and the balance was used up in running errands, and delivering important papers and documents.

Once again he visited police headquarters, to learn if anything had been heard of Nick Smithers.

"We have learned that he visited Jersey City not long ago," said an official. "But before we could get the authorities to lay their hands on him, he disappeared. We rather think he is in New York again, and if so, we shall do all we can to round him up."

On the following day Nat was sent on an errand up to Forty-second Street. He had to deliver some real estate documents, and this done, he stopped for a moment to look at the Grand Central Depot.

"Thank fortune, I am not quite so green as I was when I landed," he mused.

He was just leaving the vicinity of the station, when, chancing to look down a side street, he saw a sight that filled him with astonishment.

"Uncle Abner, and the Widow Guff!" he murmured. "What are they doing, talking to that seedy-looking fellow?"

Our hero was right. There, near the entrance to a big building, stood Abner Balberry and his bride, and a sharp-eyed but shabbily dressed stranger was talking to them very earnestly.

"Uncle Abner must have married the widow," thought Nat. "More than likely they are on their wedding tour. Wonder what that other fellow wants of uncle?"

Nat's first inclination was to leave the spot, so that his relative might not discover him. But he did not like the looks of the stranger, and so drew closer, to learn, if possible, what the interview meant.

The man had just come past Abner and his wife, and had pretended to pick up a pocketbook.

"Say, did you drop your pocketbook?" he asked, of Abner.

"I—I guess not!" stammered the farmer, and felt to make certain that his own wallet was safe.

"Queer, who did drop this," went on the stranger. "Pretty well filled, too," he added, opening the pocketbook and looking into it.

"Did you jest pick it up?" queried Abner, falling into the trap.

"Sure, right down there. Say, this is a find, ain't it?" and the man smiled broadly.

"That's what it is," said the farmer.

"I wish I could find a pocketbook," sighed Mrs. Balberry.

"I'd like to return this to the owner," went on the stranger. "I don't want to keep anybody's money."

"'Tain't everybody would say thet," was Abner's comment. He wished he had made the find.

"I suppose not, but I believe in being honest." The stranger scratched his head. "Hang me, if I know what to do," he continued.

"What do you mean?"

"I've got to go out of town soon—train leaves in ten minutes. I don't want to take this with me. It don't seem just right."

"I see."

"Can't you find the owner—I'm sure he would pay us a reward."

"Me find the owner?" stammered the farmer.

"Yes. You might advertise. The pocketbook has got at least a hundred dollars in it. The owner ought to give you twenty-five for returning it."

"Maybe he would."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said the stranger, earnestly. "You take the pocketbook, and give me ten dollars. If you can find the owner, you can claim twenty-five dollars reward."

"An' supposin' I can't find the owner?"

"Then you can keep the pocketbook."

The temptation was strong, and Abner looked at his newly-made wife.

"Might as well take it, Abner," she said, promptly. "I guess we can find the owner quick enough," and she pinched his arm suggestively.

The farmer drew forth his wallet, and began to count out ten dollars. At the same time the stranger gazed again into the other wallet.

"Must be about a hundred and fifty dollars in this," he said. "I'll trust you to do the square thing by the owner."

"Oh, you kin trust me," said Abner, quickly.

He was about to pass over his ten dollars, when he felt somebody catch him by the arm, and turning, he beheld Nat.

"Nat!" he gasped.

"Not so fast, Uncle Abner!" cried our hero. "You had better keep your money."

"Wh—what?"

"Put your money away."

"See here, what do you mean by interfering?" said the stranger, roughly.

"If he gives up the pocketbook take the ten dollars out of that," went on Nat. "My idea is, there isn't a dollar in the pocketbook."

"Nat!"

"That's right, uncle. This is an old game. I heard all about it only a few days ago."

"Oh, you go to grass!" cried the stranger, with a malicious look at Nat, and then he hurried away with all speed.

"Where did you spring from, Nat?"

"I was in this neighborhood on an errand, Uncle Abner. How do you do, Mrs. Guff."

"I'm not Mrs. Guff any more," said the lady. "I'm Mrs. Balberry, your new aunt."

"Oh, so you're married, Uncle Abner."

"Yes," was the answer. "But see here, Nat, I don't understand about thet pocketbook," said the farmer.

"It's simple enough. As I said before, the game is an old one. That fellow had the pocketbook all the time. It was stuffed with old paper, with a dollar bill wrapped on the outside. He wanted to get your money, and if he had gotten it he would have left you with a pocketbook worth about a quarter, with nothing but old paper and a dollar bill in it, and maybe he would have taken the dollar bill out, too."

"Well, I never!" cried Mrs. Balberry. "Did you ever hear of such a swindle!"

"They play all sorts of games in a big city like this. You've got to keep your eyes open."

"I know it," groaned Abner Balberry. "Yesterday, a cabman cheated me out o' fifty cents, an' a boy got a quarter from me by a bogus telegram. I thought something had happened to hum, and when I opened the telegram it had nuthin but a sheet o' blank paper inside!"

"That was too bad."

There was an awkward pause. Now that the farmer had found Nat he hardly knew what to say. He had expected to upbraid his nephew for running away, but the pocketbook episode rather flustered him.

"So you come to New York, didn't you?" he said, slowly.

"Yes."

"Are you working?"

"Yes, and I've got a pretty good job, too."

"What at?"

"I'm in an office downtown."

"How much do you git?"

"What do you think, Uncle Abner?"

"About two or three dollars a week."

"I get seven dollars a week."

"Seven dollars a week—fer a boy!"

"You have been very lucky," put in Mrs. Balberry. "I wish Fred could strike a job like that."

"I'm to have a raise later on," added Nat.

"It wasn't right fer you to run away, Nat," continued his uncle.

"There are two ways of looking at it."

"An' you had no right to set fire to the barn."

"I never did that, Uncle Abner. I wouldn't be so mean."

"And you sold thet cow."

"She was my cow."

"No, she wasn't!"

"I say she was, and I can prove it!"

"Well, we won't quarrel about the cow. What I want to know is, are you behavin' yourself here in the city?"

"I am. I work every day, and I board with some very nice people."

"Ain't squanderin' your earnin's on theaters an' sech?"

"No, I have never seen the inside of a theater."

"Maybe you ain't seen the inside of a church either," came from Mrs. Balberry.

"Yes, I go to church every Sunday."

"Then you don't want to go back to the farm?" came from Abner Balberry.

"No, I am never going back there."

"Don't you know that I am your guardeen?"

"That may be so, Uncle Abner, but I am not going back to the farm."

"You'll go if I say so!"

"No, I won't!" and Nat's eyes flashed fire. "I'm going to support myself, and all I ask is to be let alone."

"Oh, leave him stay, Abner," broke in Mrs. Balberry. "You don't want him, now you have Fred."

The farmer was on the point of saying that Nat as a worker was worth two Freds, but he thought it best to keep silent on that point.

"I'd like to make certain you are stopping with decent folks," said he, after another pause.

"And you won't bother me if I can prove that?" cried our hero, eagerly.

"I guess so, Nat. But you mustn't come down on me fer board an' clothes, later on."

"I won't."

The matter was talked over for a few minutes longer, and in the end Nat led the way to his boarding house and introduced his uncle and Mrs. Balberry to Mrs. Talcott. The surroundings rather pleased Abner Balberry, and he ended by arranging to stay with Mrs. Talcott for several days.

"It's better'n them hotels," said the farmer. "It's more like hum, ain't it, Lucy?"

"Yes, but it ain't quite so high-toned," said the bride, who was inclined to cut a dash whenever the opportunity afforded.



CHAPTER XIX

NAT BECOMES A PRIVATE CLERK

Abner Balberry and his bride remained in New York four days longer, and during that time Nat did all in his power to make their visit a pleasant one. He received Mr. Garwell's permission to remain away from work one day, and took his uncle and aunt to Central Park, and to the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty. They were greatly pleased, and were frank enough to tell Nat so.

"I guess you are more cut out for the city than for the farm," said Abner to his nephew. "I hope you do well. You must write to us often, an' some day you must pay us a visit."

"I certainly will do that, Uncle Abner," said Nat, and then, to please the bride, he purchased for her a souvenir book, containing many illustrations of the metropolis. This book Mrs. Balberry prized highly, and from that moment she began to like Nat.

"He ain't half so bad as I was led to expect," she said, on the way home. "He seems to know what he is doing."

"He certainly is gettin' along," responded Abner. "Shouldn't wonder but what he'll be a regular business man some day."

"Do you think it would pay to send Fred down to the city?"

"No, he better stay on the farm. Fred ain't got the way about him thet Nat's got."

"He's just as smart," said the youth's mother, quickly.

"Maybe, but he ain't got the knack o' it."

"He would do just as well if he had the chance," continued Mrs. Balberry. As was perhaps natural she thought her own son as good as any boy.

On the day after Nat's uncle left New York John Garwell called the boy into his private office.

"Did you arrange matters with Mr. Balberry?" he asked, pleasantly.

"Yes, sir. He is going to leave me alone after this," and our hero smiled.

"I am glad to hear it, Nat. Then there is nothing in the way of your continuing here."

"No, sir."

"In that case I want to ask you a question. How would you like to take up stenography and typewriting?"

"I'd like it first-rate, if I thought I could do anything with them after I had learned them."

"I would like to have a private secretary who understood stenography, and the use of the typewriter."

"Oh, Mr. Garwell, do you think I would do?"

"Perhaps. You are bright, and I feel that I can trust you."

"If you want me to, I'll go at stenography and typewriting at once."

"You'll have to have some time for it."

"I can go at night. There are several evening schools I know of."

"Very well, then, you may start in at once, and I will pay your tuition fees."

"I can pay those out of my savings."

"No, bring the bills to me, Nat. And after this week your duties will be wholly as my private clerk," added John Garwell.

This made quite a change for our hero. But it was an agreeable one, and he went at his new duties with vigor. A good school was selected, which Nat attended five nights in the week.

"This kind of knocks me out," said Dick, when our hero told him of the change.

"No, it don't," said Nat, quickly. "I've made arrangements for you, Dick."

"Me? How?"

"You are to come three nights a week, for lessons in arithmetic and penmanship."

"Do they give the lessons free?"

"No, I am going to settle that."

"How much will you pay?"

"Three dollars a month."

"I ought to pay that."

"No, I am going to do it," said Nat, firmly, and he kept his word.

As John Garwell's private clerk, Nat received ten dollars per week, and as he had no school bills to pay for himself he found it easy to pay for Dick. The newsboy was making rapid progress, and this not only pleased his mother, but also the man who had promised to give Dick a position in his stationery store.

"I'm going to have a job in the store next month," said the newsboy one day. "Mr. Andrews' clerk is going to leave, and I am to take his place."

"And how much will Mr. Andrews give you?" asked Mrs. Talcott.

"Six dollars a week to start on, and he says he will give me eight dollars as soon as I can help on the books."

"I am glad to hear it, Dick."

"I guess I've got Nat to thank for the job," said the newsboy. "I had to do some writing for Mr. Andrews, and he said the writing was all right."

"Yes, you can certainly thank Nat," said Mrs. Talcott.

The days passed swiftly for Nat. He made good progress at the evening school, and Mr. Garwell was correspondingly pleased. Every day the real estate broker trusted Nat more and more, until the lad occupied a truly responsible position.

One day Nat was sent to Brooklyn, to have a certain document signed by a lady of wealth.

"You must get Mrs. Parloe's signature to this, Nat," said his employer, "and get somebody to witness the signature, and sign here," he added.

"Yes, sir."

"The paper is valuable, and I don't want you to let it go out of your sight," went on John Garwell.

"I'll take care to keep my eye on it," answered Nat.

He was soon on his way, and after crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, took a street car to the address given him. It was a fine brownstone house, with elegant lace curtains at the windows.

"Does Mrs. Parloe live here?" he asked of the girl who came to the door.

"Yes, sir."

"I would like to see her on business," and Nat handed out a card on which was printed:

JOHN WILBUR GARWELL, Real Estate Broker.

Represented by NATHANIEL 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.



CHAPTER XX

RUFUS CAMERON'S BOLD MOVE

"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 cafe, 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."



CHAPTER XXI

A MISSING DOCUMENT OF VALUE

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.



CHAPTER XXII

AT THE ELEVATED STATION

"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."