Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days; Or, The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son Part 49

"I guess so. What do you want it for?"

"I'll show you."

d.i.c.k sat down on a pile of debris. From his pocket he took a thin, red book, and commenced writing in it by the light of the embers of the ruined society house. Presently he tore out a slip of paper and handed it to Dutton.

"What--what's this?" stammered the treasurer of the Sacred Pig.

"Why--why--Hamilton!"

"What is it?" demanded a score of voices, as the cadets crowded up.

"It's a check--a check," stammered Dutton, as he saw the figures which d.i.c.k had written in, and noted that they occupied four places. "It's a check!"

"To rebuild the society house of the Sacred Pig," said our hero simply.

"But I--I thought you lost all your money, Hamilton," said Dutton.

"I thought so, too," replied d.i.c.k. "So did Uncle Ezra, but I cabled to dad, and it's all a mistake. He took all our funds from the bank that failed before he went abroad. We didn't lose a cent."

"Then you're a millionaire yet, aren't you?" asked Dutton.

"I'm--I'm afraid so," answered d.i.c.k.

There was silence for a moment, and then the cadets seemed to understand what d.i.c.k had done. They looked at the piece of paper fluttering in Dutton's hand. It meant that they could have a new and better headquarters for their society.

"Three cheers for d.i.c.k Hamilton!" called several, and d.i.c.k's ears rang to the sweetest music he had ever heard.

They all wanted to shake hands with him at once, and they made so much noise that Colonel Masterly sent one of the teachers out to see if the fire had started afresh.

"It's only the cadets cheering Mr. Hamilton, sir," replied the instructor, when he returned.

"Hum! He's getting to be quite popular," said the colonel, with a smile, for he understood about d.i.c.k's handicap.

And there was abundant evidence of his popularity a little later on, for they insisted on carrying d.i.c.k on their shoulders to the saluting cannon, where all important events were celebrated, and there they did a sort of war dance about him. d.i.c.k would have been glad to escape, but they would not let him.

"We don't want your money, honey, we want you!" they sang. And d.i.c.k knew that they spoke the truth. He had fulfilled another condition of his mother's will, and become popular in spite of his wealth, though for a time he feared this would never happen. He had thought of a plan to pretend that he had suddenly grown poor, but Uncle Ezra's mistake made this unnecessary.

"I don't know whether it's more fun to be rich or poor," thought d.i.c.k, as he went to bed that night. But he had other adventures, in which his great wealth played a part, and those of you who care to follow d.i.c.k Hamilton's fortunes further may read of them in the next volume of this series, to be called: "d.i.c.k Hamilton's Steam Yacht; or, A Young Millionaire and the Kidnappers."

"Well, how are you feeling this morning, Toots--I mean Corporal?" asked d.i.c.k, about a week later, when the janitor was able to leave the hospital.

"Fine. I'd never know I'd been sick. That was a lucky thing to get hit with a stone, so I could know who I really was. But I'm anxious to get home and see my father, since you say he's not well."

"Oh, he's not seriously ill," said d.i.c.k. "I had a letter from Henry Darby about him. He's so pleased that you have been located, that a sight of you is about all the medicine he needs."

"I can go home to him in a few days, Colonel Masterly says."

"You want to give us an exhibition of shooting before you go," suggested d.i.c.k.

"I'm afraid I'm all out of practice," objected the former corporal.

But he was not, as he very quickly proved, when he and some chums of d.i.c.k went to the rifle range. There the soldier made bullseye after bullseye with an ease that made the cadets fairly gasp, and he did all sorts of fancy shooting, including driving a tack in a board from even a greater distance than even Captain Handlee had boasted that his son could do it.

"I guess it must have been that my eyes were affected by that Indian bullet," said the corporal. "They got all right again when the stone from the fire hit me."

Later, the surgeon admitted that this was probably true.

A short time after this Corporal Bill Handlee joined his aged father in Hamilton Corners, and the two enjoyed many happy years together, thanks to Mr. Hamilton's generosity, and what d.i.c.k had done to solve the mystery.

"Well, Grit, old boy," said our hero one day near the close of the term, as he was strolling over the campus, followed by his ugly pet, and with Paul Drew, William the Silent and some other cadets at his side, "well, Grit, I think you and I will go home soon. Dad will be home next week, and say, maybe we won't have some good times; eh, Grit?"

The bulldog nearly turned a summersault to show how glad, he was. A few days later d.i.c.k and his dog were at Hamilton Corners, ready for the summer vacation.

THE END