Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 37

As d.i.c.k prepared to jump from one of the dining-room windows, believing that, as he had often read of such things occurring, he was to be made the victim of a crank, the machine gave a louder click. Professor Messapatomia, with a sudden motion of his arm, diverted the aim of Gibbs, and the water flew to one side of the box. At the same moment there was a jar, as from a heavy spring, and a shower of white objects scattered about the room.

"There!" exclaimed the professor, triumphantly, "that's how it works!

Very simple, you see, and it scatters the bait all around. Then all you have to do is to take your pole and line and catch all the fish you want."

"Fis.h.!.+" repeated d.i.c.k, somewhat in a daze. He had expected the house to be half-blown apart, yet the machine only scattered harmless pieces of paper about.

"Fish, of course," replied the professor, "What did you think this was?"

"Aren't you an Anarchist, and isn't that an infernal machine?" demanded Gibbs, wiping away some of the water he had accidentally spilled over his head when the professor knocked up his arm.

"Anarchist? Infernal machine?" repeated Professor Messapatomia. "Why, my dear sir, that is my latest invention of a fish-catching device. You see, you wind up the spring, and you set it to go off at any hour you wish. Then you put some finely chopped pieces of meat in this top pan.

That is the bait. Only in this case, as I didn't want to muss up the room, I used bits of paper. At the proper time the machine, which you have set beside the stream where you desire to fish, goes off. The bait is thrown all over the surface of the water. It attracts the fish, and when you throw in your line you have no end of bites. It's the greatest idea of the age! It will revolutionize fis.h.i.+ng! It's simply marvelous!

"I have just perfected the invention, but I need money to put the machine on the market. You, sir," turning to d.i.c.k, "are just the person to help me. I read of your immense wealth and that you are fond of all sports. Fis.h.i.+ng is a sport, therefore I came to you. All I need is ten thousand dollars and it will make both of us rich in a year. Now, if you will kindly write me out a check for that amount, I'll bid you good-morning, and you can go on with your breakfast which I have interrupted."

He began to pick up the scattered bits of paper, Mary helping him, while Gibbs gazed rather stupidly at the queer figure with the bristling hair.

Then d.i.c.k laughed.

"Well, you certainly gave me a scare," he said. "I thought you wanted to blow the place up. But I'm sorry I can't invest ten thousand dollars in that machine. It seems to me it would be just as easy to stand on the sh.o.r.e and throw the pieces of meat in the water by hand."

"Yes, of course, you could do it that way," admitted the professor, "but it isn't half so scientific. However, I'll not urge you," and, picking up his apparatus, he left the room after a low bow to d.i.c.k.

"He went away with less trouble than I expected," remarked d.i.c.k, as he looked at the wet place on the floor and at some of the bits of paper that still remained. "Well, Gibbs, I admit I was scared for a minute."

"So was I, Master d.i.c.k. I shouldn't have let him in, only you had given orders that all respectable-looking visitors were to be treated nicely, and I'm sure he looked respectable in spite of his queer hair."

"Oh, yes, he was respectable, all right. It's not your fault, Gibbs. I guess I'll have to draw the line about callers a little closer,"

concluded d.i.c.k as he sat down to breakfast.

The summer pa.s.sed away and fall came. d.i.c.k returned to the academy, where he renewed his studies. Several times he was on the point of making another investment, but, as the stock of the milk company went up in value, he felt that this would answer the requirements of his mother's will, and furnish the profit called for. So, though he investigated many schemes that seemed to promise well, he did not take any stock in them.

It was in May of the following spring, when, having looked at a quotation of his milk stock, and found that it was a little higher than it had ever been before, d.i.c.k walked down to his father's bank to consult him about certain matters.

He found Mr. Hamilton in his private office, but the millionaire did not have a cheerful smile on his face. Instead he looked troubled.

"What's the matter, dad?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Well, I don't like the way the money market looks in New York," was the answer. "I've just heard by telegraph that several large banks have failed."

"Does it involve you?"

"To a certain extent, yes. Things look like a panic, such as we had a few years ago. Still, it may blow over."

"I wonder if it will affect the milk company?"

"It might. But there, d.i.c.k, don't go to worrying. You'll have enough of that to do when you get older. Things may turn out all right." But the worried look did not leave Mr. Hamilton's face, in spite of his attempt to cheer up his son.

The next morning when d.i.c.k came down to breakfast he saw his father at the table. But, instead of eating, the millionaire was eagerly looking at a newspaper. d.i.c.k glanced over his father's shoulder. There, staring at him, in big black letters, was the heading of a long article:

GREAT MONEY PANIC!

"Are things--are things in bad shape, dad?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Pretty much so," replied Mr. Hamilton, not looking up. "It's not as bad as I feared, though, and our bank will not suffer. However, lots of small concerns, and some big ones, have failed."

Then d.i.c.k caught sight of another part of the paper. He could hardly believe his eyes, for, in a prominent part of the page, was an article telling of the failure of the big milk concern in which he had invested.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, taking hold of the paper, and pointing to the account.

"Yes," replied Mr. Hamilton. "I saw it. Your investment is a failure, d.i.c.k."

CHAPTER XXVIII

HENRY IN TROUBLE

For a few moments father and son looked at each other. d.i.c.k hardly knew what to say, but the millionaire was evidently used to harder business disappointments than the present one, for he laughed and remarked:

"Never mind, d.i.c.k. You made a good attempt, but you failed. You have over a month yet in which to comply with the terms of the will. In that time you ought to be able to find some good, paying investment. Look over the paper. There's lots of bad financial news in it, but you may find some good. I must hurry to the bank. This panic will affect a number of our customers. I'm going to be very busy for some days to come."

Mr. Hamilton continued with his breakfast as if nothing had happened, but poor d.i.c.k's appet.i.te vanished. He had counted so much on his shares in the milk company paying well that he had never thought of failure.

Particularly as, of late, they had seemingly increased in value. But, as he learned by looking over the paper after his father left, many older and stronger concerns than the milk company in which he was interested had failed.

"Panics are bad things," murmured d.i.c.k, which sentiment was echoed by many another person that day.

Still d.i.c.k was not too much cast down. He knew he was a very wealthy young man, and he had no fear that his father's millions would be disturbed in the general hard times that would be sure to follow. But it hurt his pride that, with all his wealth, he could not do as much as little Tim Muldoon had done--start with nothing and make money.

"I'm almost ready to sell papers," mused d.i.c.k, with a smile.

However, he decided to do nothing rash. He still had more than a month until his birthday--the time limit for making the paying investment--and he felt that in that period something would occur that would enable him to fulfil the conditions of his mother's will.

"At any rate, I've got to go to school to-day," he said to himself, as he finished what, for him, was rather a slim breakfast. "I guess I'll come out right in the end. In fact, I've got to if I want to escape Uncle Ezra's clutches."

As d.i.c.k was coming home from his cla.s.ses that afternoon, turning over in his mind various plans for making a good investment--from growing mushrooms or raising squabs to starting a bra.s.s band or becoming proprietor of a small circus--he saw coming toward him a dilapidated rig. He knew it could be none other than that of Henry Darby. As the horse and wagon approached it seemed to d.i.c.k to look, more than ever, ready to fall apart.

"Well, Henry," he remarked. "I see you're still in business. The panic hasn't bothered you, has it?"

"Not me, so much as it has the horse and wagon," replied Henry, with a laugh. "Don't you think that beast's ribs are nearer caving in than they were the last time you saw it?"

"He does look thinner, for a fact," admitted d.i.c.k.

"He is," and Henry spoke with solemn earnestness. "They were almost touching on either side this morning, but I gave him all the hay I could afford and that sort of spread them apart. As for the wagon--well, I don't need any bell or automobile horn to tell people I'm coming. It rattles enough to be heard two blocks off."

"Why don't you get a better outfit?" suggested d.i.c.k. "I should think it would pay."