CHAPTER XI
"HANK" DARBY IN BUSINESS
Hamilton Corners did not cease talking of the circus, and Dick's part in it, for several weeks. Among the boys, Dick was more of a hero than ever and many were his champions. Only Simon and Guy sneered, but they took care to do it when no one else was present. The truth was, Simon hated to see Dick spend money unless he had a chance to get some of it, and, since the failure of the bond scheme, this did not seem very likely to happen.
For Mr. Hamilton had warned his son not to get too intimate with Simon. A youth, he said, who had as a friend a man of the character of Colonel Dendon was not a safe chum. Dick promised not to have too much to do with either Simon or Guy, but he was too independent a boy to cut them altogether.
"Are you going to be busy this afternoon, dad?" asked Dick of his father one morning. "Because if you're not, I'd like to come down to the bank and talk over a little business with you. I think it's about time I made some large investment in order to comply with mother's will, and I want to ask your advice."
"Come along," answered Mr. Hamilton, good-naturedly. "I will aid you all I can, but I'd rather you would learn to depend on yourself. Experience is the best teacher, but her lessons come a trifle high."
Several days previous to this Dick had been in correspondence with a New York firm, and he wanted some advice before he went any further into a certain scheme. Accordingly, at the time appointed, he went to his father's bank, carrying a lot of printed matter and some letters.
"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Hamilton, when he and his son were seated in the private office.
"I was thinking of investing in this company, formed to supply a new kind of preserved milk," said Dick. "Some one has discovered a process by which milk can be made to keep a long time, and yet it tastes like fresh. They state that the milk problem, in big cities, is one that many have tried to solve. By their method any family can have fresh milk with little trouble, and it is almost as cheap as that which comes right from a cow. Of course, in a big city it's impossible to supply fresh milk to everyone.
"They are offering to sell some stock cheap, and it is guaranteed to double in value in six months. They are all ready to put the milk on the market. I was thinking of investing some money in this concern. What do you think of it?"
Mr. Hamilton looked over the mass of circulars, statements of the business that could be done in New York alone, to say nothing of the rest of the country, and glanced at the pictures of machines for making the milk so it would keep for a long time, without ice, even in the hottest weather.
"Well, Dick," he said slowly. "This company has some well-known men connected with it, and the scheme looks all right. That is as far as you can tell from this. If you want to invest some of your money in it I have no objections. How much did you figure on?"
"I thought about five thousand dollars."
Mr. Hamilton uttered a low whistle.
"I'd say two thousand," he remarked. "If you find it's good you can put the other three in later. Better go slow on a new thing. Of course, I don't know anything about it, and if it fails I don't want you to hold me responsible. I'm willing that you should try it—that's all."
"Then I'll send for two thousand dollars' worth of stock," decided Dick; and he made out a check, had it certified, and sent it to New York.
"Now that's done, and I'm in a fair way to make a large profit, I think I'll begin to look around for something else," he said. "It's a good thing to have several investments; isn't it, dad? I think I've heard you say not to have all your eggs in one basket."
"That's right," assented Mr. Hamilton. "Only you want to be sure you have good eggs, and not bad ones; also, that the baskets are strong enough to carry them."
At that moment there came a knock on the door of the private office, and when Mr. Hamilton had called out an invitation to enter, Archibald Spreckles McIverson, to give him his complete name, the messenger of the bank, announced:
"A gentleman to see you, Mr. Hamilton. I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but he says his business is very important and he will not detain you long. He also wishes to see Mr. Dick, and he has a young man with him."
"Show him in," said Mr. Hamilton. "Must be somebody with money," he added to his son as the messenger departed, "or McIverson would never be so puffed up. He loves to announce anyone whom he believes is wealthy, but I don't know of anyone, with any great amount of cash, who is coming to see me to-day."
"Mr. Henry Darby, senior and junior," announced Archibald Spreckles Mclverson with a grand air, as he held the door of the private office open so that "Hank" Darby and Henry might enter. Then Mclverson softly closed the portal.
"Ahem!" remarked Hank, almost as pompously as had the bank messenger. "Fine day, Mr. Hamilton."
Dick looked at Henry's father in amazement. The man was dressed in a new suit of black, and wore a silk hat. He had a necktie of vivid purple, and a red pink was in his buttonhole. He took off his tall hat and wiped his shining bald head with a big red silk handkerchief. No wonder he had impressed McIverson. Henry looked a little embarrassed, but Dick nodded at him in a friendly way, and made room for him on the sofa upon which he was sitting.
"I have called upon a little matter of business," said Mr. Darby, carefully depositing his hat on the carpet. "I and my son here," and he nodded in Henry's direction. "I may also add that your son is interested—er—to a considerable extent. In fact, I may say to an equal extent with ourselves."
"I wonder what's coming?" thought Mr. Hamilton, who had never seen Hank so well dressed, and who knew the man to be the laziest fellow in Hamilton Corners.
"Your son, Mr. Hamilton," went on Hank Darby, with a grand air that was strangely in contrast with his former attitude when one met him about town, "Your son, I may state, has been the means of doing something which I long have desired to see done. He has enabled me and my son to start in business—a business that, while it is small, is capable of enormous possibilities—enormous possibilities," and Mr. Darby looked as if he would puff up like a balloon and float out of the window.
"In short," he went on, "he has loaned my son two hundred and fifty dollars, for which Henry has given his note. Of course, that is no legal security, and when I heard about it I at once set about putting the matter on a business basis."
"I don't understand," said Mr. Hamilton.
"Henry is in the old iron business, dad," explained Dick.
"Exactly," went on Mr. Darby. "The old metal business, to be more exact. I am also in it with him. Between us we have formed a company—a corporation to be more exact. I have called it The International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation. We have a capital stock of one million dollars—"
"With two hundred and twenty-five paid in," interrupted Henry, with a smile. "Dad took twenty-five of your two hundred and fifty, Dick, to get himself some new clothes."
"Exactly," interrupted Mr. Darby. "As president of the International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation I felt that it was due to the public to look the part. I don't mind old clothes myself, but the public is apt to judge a man by them. So I bought these. I think it will go a great way in impressing the public; do you not agree with me, sir?"
"Perfectly," answered Mr. Hamilton, trying not to smile.
"So you are president?" asked Dick.
"I am," replied Mr. Darby, with a grand air. "I am the president and you, sir, are the treasurer," and he bowed to Dick. "It is with your capital that we—my son and I—have been able to make this humble beginning. But all things must have a beginning. The possibilities are enormous, sir—enormous!" and once more Mr. Darby swelled up. "We are going to begin active operations at once, sir; in fact, my son has already begun them. We expect to do a large trade in metals of all description. I shall devote my time to the market abroad in a few weeks, as I shall have exhausted the possibilities on this side of the Atlantic. Then, sir, we shall be truly what the name indicated, international!"
"What do you do, Henry?" asked Dick.
"Me? Oh, I drive the wagon, collect the old iron and sell it again," said the lad, with just the suspicion of a smile, as he glanced in his father's direction. "I bought out old Moses Cohen, and he had a horse and wagon, which I took.
"At least, it's called a horse and wagon in the mortgage which I had to sign," went on Henry, "but sometimes I have my doubts about both," and he laughed a little. "However, it will do for a while—until I can make money enough to get a better rig."
"Yes, we are going a bit slow at first," put in Mr. Darby. "As soon as I get things in good shape I shall take a trip to England. I understand they use a great deal of iron there. Perhaps I shall buy up a large amount abroad and ship it here. I have a number of schemes on as soon as I get this one in such shape that Henry can run it—with the assistance of Mr. Dick, of course," he hastened to add.
"What we came here for to-day," said Henry, "was to give you these papers, Dick," and he handed over a large bundle.
"What are they?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"The prospectus and incorporation papers of The International and Consolidated Old Metal Corporation," interrupted Mr. Darby. "I drew them up myself, and I know they are right. They show the interest you have in the concern," turning to Dick, "and your interests are fully looked after. I wish, also, to endorse the note my son gave you."
"It isn't necessary," declared Dick.
"Pardon me, young man, but it is," insisted Mr. Darby. "Business is business," he continued, with a grand air, and, when Dick produced the note, Mr. Darby, with a flourish, put his name on the back of it.
"It has doubled in value," he remarked, without the ghost of a smile. "Now, our matters being concluded, I will bid you good-afternoon," he said, and with a low bow to Mr. Hamilton and Dick, he backed out, attended by McIverson.
"If he'd let Henry alone the business might amount to something," commented Mr. Hamilton when the visitors had gone.
"Yes, the idea of his taking some of the money to buy a new suit," observed Dick. "Well, I guess Henry can manage it if he only has half a chance."
"I wouldn't give you much for that note," said Mr. Hamilton.
"You'll not discount it; eh, dad?"
"Not much! It's worse than ever since Hank put his signature on it. I guess your two hundred and fifty dollars are gone."
"Never mind, I helped Henry, anyhow. Maybe he'll pull through. He's a hard worker."
"Gentleman to see you, sir," interrupted McIverson, putting his head into the office. "Says he has an appointment with you."
"What is the name?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"Mr. Franklin Vanderhoof," announced the messenger, with a rolling tone that denoted the person to be of apparent importance.
"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. I'll see him at once. Dick, will you excuse me. I have some business to discuss with Mr. Vanderhoof."
As Dick bade his father good-bye and left the office he saw entering it a man, well dressed, and with a very black moustache. At the sight of the man's face Dick started.
"Where have I seen him before?" the youth asked himself. "There is something strange about that man. I wish I knew what his business was."