CHAPTER XXVIII
HENRY IN TROUBLE
For a few moments father and son looked at each other. Dick 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, Dick. 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 Dick's appetite 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 Dick, which sentiment was echoed by many another person that day.
Still Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick was coming home from his classes that afternoon, turning over in his mind various plans for making a good investment—from growing mushrooms or raising squabs to starting a brass 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 Dick 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 Dick.
"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 Dick. "I should think it would pay."
"It might pay, but I couldn't. I'll have to get along with this for a while," and Henry looked at the odd assortment of old metal he had collected and was taking to his storage yard.
"Isn't the business paying as well as you thought it would, Henry?"
"Oh, the business is all right. The trouble is the way the president manages it," and Henry smiled ruefully. "You remember I told you dad had taken most of the surplus capital for one of his schemes," and he looked inquiringly at Dick.
"Yes, I remember, you said he thought there were thousands of dollars in it."
"Well, they're still there," said Henry, with dry humor. "Dad hasn't been able to induce 'em to come forth and nestle in his or my pockets. That's why I haven't enough money to buy a new horse and wagon. If I had it I could cover more ground in a day and do more business. As for this—this—well, I don't know what to call him. He reminds me of a heap of old iron, sticking out seven ways from Sunday, as the old saying is. You see his bones stick out like so many points."
"They do, for a fact," and Dick looked at the horse, that presented more angles than he had ever before imagined a horse possessed.
"There's one consolation," went on Henry. "He's cheap, but there's another disadvantage, he looks it. So does the wagon. Whenever I start away from home to collect old metal I always tell dad not to worry if I don't get back that night. There's no telling which will break down first—the horse or the wagon. It's like taking a voyage in a sailing ship, no telling when you'll arrive.
"Still," he went on, "there's one advantage. It keeps my journeys from being monotonous. Nothing like having a horse that may develop spavin, ring bone or heaves on the road any minute, or a wagon that may drop all four wheels at once and break every spring. It keeps me from getting lonesome."
"I'm sorry to hear the old metal business is so poor," remarked Dick. "What caused the trouble?"
"Well, dad got an idea that he knew a lot about old iron and such things. He started in to do the buying and I was to go after the stuff, when he had purchased it, and bring it home. He did buy some iron scrap and a lot of old horseshoes that I made a profit on. Then he heard of some metal at an old factory. Someone told him it had a lot of platinum in it. Now, platinum is very valuable. Dad thought he had struck a bargain. He paid a big price for the stuff. In fact, he used up every cent I had put away in order to get hold of that metal he thought had platinum in it."
"Didn't it?" asked Dick, as Henry stopped.
"Not a bit. Someone worked off a lot of steel and iron mixed, on poor old dad. I can't sell it anywhere. It's a peculiar mixture of metal. Some new company had it made for their machinery and they busted up. I've got the stuff back in the storage yard now. Can't get rid of it, though I've tried all over. That's where all my money is. So I have to begin all over again."
"It's too bad," said Dick, with ready sympathy.
"Yes, dad felt quite cut-up over it—for a few days. Then he thought of a new scheme. He says it'll make our fortune if he can only work it. But he hasn't any capital to start it, and, until I work some up in a small way, I haven't any, either. But there, I'm sorry I bothered you with all my troubles. I guess you have enough of your own. I'll pull out somehow." And calling to the horse, that had gone to sleep, Henry managed to arouse the animal and started off, the wagon rattling like a load of steel girders.
"Everything seems to be going wrong," murmured Dick, as he walked toward home, "I guess I'll have to help Henry along some more. He deserves it. And I must do something about my own investment. The time is getting shorter."
For two weeks Dick thought over many plans, but as fast as he made them he rejected them. Some his father advised him against, and others, after consideration, he decided would not give an adequate return for money invested. He was getting worried, for it was only a little more than a month until his birthday, when, if he had not complied with the provisions of the will, he must spend a year with his Uncle Ezra. The thought of that made him gloomy indeed.
He had almost decided, one afternoon, to put some money in a small ice-cream store, which he heard was being started at Lake Dunkirk for the summer excursion season.
"There ought to be good money in that," reasoned Dick. "I could get a lot of my friends to buy ice-cream there and it would help me to make a profit. I think I'll look up the manager and see if he'll take a partner."
He was about to go out, to put his newly-formed resolution into operation, when the maid announced a gentleman to see him.
"Who is it?" asked Dick.
"He won't tell me his name. He insists on seeing you at once."
"Another crank, I suppose. I thought they were done coming here. Well, show him in."
A moment later there entered the room a little man, with a long white beard and snow-white hair. He had the jolliest face imaginable, and looked just like a picture of Santa Claus.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, with a German accent. "I am Herr Wilhelm Doodlebrod, und I haf de airship at der freight station. When can I gif you an exhibition?"
"Airship?" murmured Dick, in bewilderment, while Herr Doodlebrod nodded several times and chuckled, as if it was the best joke in the world.