Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days; Or, The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son Part 4

"What are you going to do with me?" asked d.i.c.k.

"You remember," went on Mr. Hamilton, "that in her will, your mother specified, in addition to making a good investment, that you must attend a military academy----"

"That's so!" cried d.i.c.k. "I'd forgotten about that. Say, when can I go?

This beats camp!"

"Not so fast," cautioned his father. "There are certain conditions to be fulfilled. Your mother had peculiar ideas regarding money. She wished her son to become a success in spite of it. So she provided, under certain penalties, which you will learn of later, that you were to go to a good military academy to complete your education.

"There, as I told you once before, though you may have forgotten it, you are to become popular with the students in spite of your wealth. You are to make your own way without the aid of your millions. And this is no easy matter. While many persons have a false notion of wealth, by far the larger cla.s.s attach to it only the importance it deserves. A rich lad can, to a certain extent, become popular, but he will never have the real, solid friends that some youth not so well off would win. So you've got to make friends in spite of your money."

"That ought to be easy," said d.i.c.k, but he was to find it a harder task than he had supposed it would be.

"So, as I have to go away, and close up the house," went on Mr.

Hamilton, "I have arranged that you are to go to the academy a little ahead of time, about two weeks before the term opens. That will give you a chance to find your way around the place."

"Where is it?"

"It is the Kentfield Military Academy, located in one of the middle western states, and is near Lake Wagatook. Colonel James Masterly, a friend of mine, is the superintendent, and I have written to him concerning you. He gave me permission to send you on ahead of time, and that is what I propose to do. You will have to get ready to go at the end of this week. I hope you do not object."

"Not in the least, dad. We were having lots of fun at camp, but I'll have more fun at Kentfield. Shoulder arms! present arms! Halt! parade rest! Wow! Say, dad, this is the best yet!"

"Wait until you've spent a term there," advised his father.

"If I don't have to start until the end of the week, I might as well go back to camp," said d.i.c.k, when he had calmed down a bit.

"Just as you like. From now on I shall be too busy to see much of you, but I will make all arrangements."

"All right, dad. I'll go back to camp then. I can get a late train," and d.i.c.k went to see what time it left, meanwhile whistling a succession of military airs, from "The Girl I left Behind Me," to "Yankee Doodle."

He reached camp late that night, somewhat to the surprise of his chums, and they spent the next few days in crowding in as much pleasure as possible. When it became time for d.i.c.k to leave, the others decided to go back home with him, as the three weeks were nearly up.

CHAPTER III

GRIT ROUTS UNCLE EZRA

"There's a man out in the vestibule who wants to see you, Master d.i.c.k,"

said Gibbs, the butler, one evening, a few days before the time of departure to the academy.

"Who is it?"

"Captain Handlee."

"Tell him to come in." d.i.c.k knew Captain Handlee as an old soldier, who lived in a tumble-down house on the outskirts of the village. The veteran, escorted by the butler, entered shyly. d.i.c.k greeted him kindly, and the old man began almost abruptly:

"Did you ever hear that I had a son?"

"No, I never knew that. Where is he?"

"That is what I want you to help me to find out."

"You want me to help you? Why, how can I?" asked d.i.c.k.

"I don't know that you can. I only hope so. Will you?"

"I will do all I can for you, but perhaps you want to see my father,"

for d.i.c.k had an idea that the old man wanted some money for some purpose.

"No, I want to see you, Mr. d.i.c.k. You see you are going to a military academy, and that is why I think you can help me."

"But I don't understand."

"Listen, and I will tell you. As you know, I am an old soldier, but few persons around here know that my only son was a soldier, too."

"I certainly did not. I never knew that you had a son."

"Well, I did, and he was a fine chap, too. He enlisted in the regular army, where I served my time, but for many years I have heard nothing about him."

"What happened?"

"He was among the missing after his company was sent to quell an uprising among the Indians, out west, many years ago. No word was ever received from him, and I don't know whether he was killed, or taken captive. I never heard anything about him, and now I think you can aid me in locating him."

"But how can I?"

"By making inquiries at the military academy."

"But it is not likely that any one at Kentfield would know of your son."

"They might. When your father told me you were going there, he mentioned that Major Franklin Webster, a retired army officer, was in charge of military tactics at the school. Now Major Webster is an old Indian fighter, and I thought that if you asked him, he might be able to get some news of my son. Will you do this for me?"

"I will, gladly, but I have not much hope of the result."

"Perhaps it will amount to nothing," said the old soldier with a sigh, "but it is the first chance I have had in many years. All my inquiries of the war department resulted in nothing. Perhaps you may have better luck."

"I hope so," replied d.i.c.k gently. "I will make some inquiries. What is your son's name?"

"He was christened William, but his friends in the army called him Corporal Bill."

"How would Major Webster know him?"

"Oh, easily enough. I have his picture."

The veteran drew a faded photograph from his pocket, and held the card so that d.i.c.k could see it. "That's him," said the old man proudly.

The young millionaire saw the photograph of a youthful soldier in uniform.