From Farm to Fortune; or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience by Jr. Horatio Alger (great books of all time .TXT) 📕

must say I don't like this."

"Those men are after Mr. Dart," came from Harry Bray.

"You mind the office—I'll see what is up," went on Nat, and followed down the stairs.

"He is gone, Parsons," said one of the men.

"You are sure it was our man?"

"Yes, confound the luck. He got away like a slippery eel."

"Did Mr. Dart run away from you?" asked Nat.

"That's what he did, young man."

"What did he run for?"

"Perhaps you know as well as I do."

"No, I don't."

"How long have you worked for that man?"

"Only a few days."

"What about that other chap upstairs?"

"He came to work about the time I did."

"And that pale-looking man, too?"

"I don't know any more about him than you do."

"Did you place any money in your employer's hands?"

"Yes, a hundred dollars. And Harry Bray, the other clerk, put up the same amount."

"Humph! I reckon you've seen the last of your cash."

"What!" cried Nat, aghast. "Do you mean that?"

"I sure do."

"But—but——" Our hero was so staggered he could not continue for the moment.

"This Hamilton Dart—or whatever he calls himself—is a first-class swindler."

"A swindler!" Nat fell up against the doorway. "I—I—then my money is gone?"

"More than likely."

"Oh, what a fool I've been! And I thought he was such a gentleman."

"He has fooled lots of folks besides you, young man," said one of the men, kindly, for he saw that Nat was hard hit.

"He isn't a business man at all?"

"He is a confidence man from Chicago."

By this time, feeling certain something was wrong, Harry Bray and Oliver Ripple came below.

"What do you mean by confidence man?" asked Nat, doubtfully.

"He is a swindler; one of the kind that can tell a good story in order to get your money."

"Who is a swindler?" demanded Harry Bray.

"Our employer," cried Nat. "He has run away with our money."

"Has Mr. Dart run away?" asked the sick man, nervously.

"Yes."

"Oh! And to think I borrowed that money from my poor sister!" came with a cry of anguish, and then the sick man sank on the hallway stairs, thoroughly overcome.

CHAPTER XIV NAT OBTAINS ANOTHER SITUATION

"How is it that you know so much about this man?" asked Nat, after he had collected his thoughts.

"I am a police official from Chicago," answered one of the two men who had tried to catch Hamilton Dart. "We have been on this rascal's trail for some time."

"Is Hamilton Dart his real name?"

"No; his real name is Nick Smithers. He is a sly rogue."

"Do you think there is any chance of catching him?" asked Harry Bray. "I cannot afford to lose my money."

"Nor I," added our hero.

"I must have my money back!" groaned the sick man. "What will my sister say? She got it out of the bank only yesterday!"

"I wish I could help you," said the Chicago police official. "We'll do what we can."

All went back to the office, and the janitor of the building was called in.

"Sure, an' Mr. Dart has had the office only about a week," said the janitor. "He hasn't paid the rent yet. He said he was in the habit of payin' in the middle of the month."

"Then the owner of this building is out of pocket, too," said one of the men from the West.

An examination was made of the desk used by the swindler, but nothing of value was found. The letters and bills were of no consequence, and the blank books were not worth twenty-five cents each.

"Let us go to the police station," said the men, and they went off, followed by the sick man.

"This is the worst yet," remarked Nat, as he dropped into the one easy chair of which the office boasted. "And I thought I was so smart. I'm a regular greeny, if ever there was one!" And he shook his head bitterly.

"I'm in the same boat," responded his fellow victim. "My father will be pretty mad when he hears of this. He lent me the money, and I assured him it would be perfectly safe."

"I used my own money, but it was almost the last dollar I had," said our hero, soberly. At that moment his heart felt like a lump of lead in his bosom.

"What do you suppose we can do about it?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Do you know where this Hamilton Dart, alias Nick Smithers, lived?"

"No."

"To look for him in a big city like this will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"More than likely he won't stay in this city. He may be miles away already. He didn't want to see those men from Chicago."

They talked the matter over for an hour, at the end of which time a detective from headquarters came to interview them. The detective took charge of the office, and that seemed to be the end of the affair.

"Give me your addresses," said the detective to Nat and his fellow clerk. "If we hear anything we will let you know," and so it was arranged.

Nat felt very much downcast when he arrived at his boarding house that evening. Mrs. Talcott was not long in noticing it.

"You seem to be in trouble, Nat," said she kindly, for she had taken quite a fancy to the country lad. "Can I help you in any way?"

"I don't know," he answered, bluntly. "I've gone and made a big fool of myself."

"In what way?" asked she in astonishment.

"I thought I was smart, but I'm a regular country greeny. I let a man swindle me out of nearly every dollar I possessed."

"That is certainly too bad, Nat. How did it happen?"

For answer our hero made a clean breast of the whole matter. While he was telling his tale, Dick came in, and he was likewise told.

"And you mean to say that you lost the whole hundred dollars!" ejaculated the newsboy. "That's awful, Nat!"

"I wish I could get hold of that Nick Smithers. I'd—I'd wring his neck for him!"

"It won't do any good to look for him. I know his kind. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow. Those chaps work their schemes all over the States."

Nat was in no humor to eat supper, and scarcely touched a mouthful. Mrs. Talcott and Dick did all they could to cheer him up.

"Make the best of it," said the newsboy. "You'll be sure to strike something good sooner or later."

"I guess I'm too much of a greeny to do that," answered Nat.

That night when our hero went to bed he could not sleep. His ready money was running low, and how to turn he did not know. Bitterly he upbraided himself for having trusted Nick Smithers, but this did no good. His money was gone, and it was doubtful if he would ever see a cent of it again.

"I ought to go back on the farm where I belong," he muttered. "I'm not smart enough to get along in a city like New York."

But by morning his thoughts took a turn, and at breakfast his eyes were as bright and expectant as ever.

"I'm going out and get something to do," he said firmly. "And I'm not going to let anybody get the best of me again."

"Do not worry," said Mrs. Talcott. "You can stay here, even if you don't get anything right away. I'll trust you for the board."

"You are very kind," answered Nat, gratefully. "But I can't stand it to do nothing."

All of that day he tramped up one street and down another looking for a situation, but without success.

He could have had one job as an errand boy, but the wages offered were but two dollars per week.

"I can't take that," he said. "I've got to support myself even if I can't do better."

On the next day it rained, but he went out, nevertheless, with an umbrella which Mrs. Talcott loaned him.

He had several advertisements, taken from the morning papers, and lost no time in applying at first one place and then another.

The third place offered on his list was in a big office building down near the corner of Broadway and Park Row. When Nat arrived there he found half a dozen young fellows ahead of him.

"You will all have to wait until Mr. Garwell arrives," said a clerk to the crowd. "I expect him any moment."

"Hope he don't keep us too long," grumbled one of those who were waiting. "I don't want to lose the chance of another job if I can't get this."

"You need not wait at all if you don't care to," said the clerk.

Two others came in, and the outer office was comfortably filled, when a stout gentleman walked in quickly, and gave a glance around.

"Hum!" said he, when his eyes fell upon Nat, and he looked at our hero more closely. Nat at once recognized the newcomer as the gentleman he had met on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"How are you, young man," said the gentleman.

"Very well, sir," answered Nat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see about the position that was advertised."

"Ah, indeed!" The gentleman gave Nat another look. "Come inside."

"Yes, sir," and our hero quickly followed him to an inner office. Here the gentleman hung up his hat, and sank down in an easy chair at a desk. "Take a seat. I suppose you remember meeting me?" This was said with a little smile.

"Oh, yes, sir; on the bridge."

"You did me a good turn, and I've not forgotten it. So you want a job, eh? What's your name, and where are you from?"

Nat told him, and also told the gentleman some of his experiences since arriving in the metropolis. John Garwell listened with interest.

"I fancy I can give you an opening," said he. "Here, write a few lines on this sheet of paper." Nat did so. "A very good hand. How much do you want to start on?"

"Enough to support myself, Mr. Garwell."

"That's a fair answer. Can you live on seven dollars a week?"

"I can live on less than that."

"Some young men want a fortune to start on. Yesterday a young man called here for an opening. He had had no experience, yet he wanted not less than twenty dollars a week."

"I guess you didn't engage him," said Nat, with a smile.

"I did not. Well, I'll give you a trial, at seven dollars a week. If you prove satisfactory I'll give you eight dollars at the end of three months, and ten dollars at the end of the first year."

"Thank you, very much."

"You can go to work at once." Mr. Garwell touched a push-button on his desk, and a clerk appeared. "Wilson, this is the new clerk, Nat Nason. You can show him his duties. And tell those others that are waiting that the position is filled."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait a minute, Nason. Wilson, you can go."

The clerk disappeared, closing the door behind him.

"I just wished to say a word about what you did for me the other day."

"Oh, that's all right."

"Here is a five-dollar bill for a reward."

"But I don't want any reward, Mr. Garwell. It was nice of you to give me the position."

"Didn't you just own up that you were short of funds?"

"Yes, sir, but——"

"That's all right. Take the money. And now let me tell you something as a friend."

"Yes, sir."

"I like my clerks to look neat and clean at all times. It pays to look that way. Never come down to the office with a dirty collar, or with dirty shoes."

"I'll remember that."

"I don't ask you to dress in the topmost style, or be a dude. But keep yourself neat and clean."

"I will, sir."

"Then that is all. If anything doesn't go right in the office don't hesitate to let me know."

CHAPTER XV ABNER AND THE WIDOW GUFF

It was with a light heart that Nat went to work for Mr. John Garwell. He felt that his employer was a man to be trusted, and one who would do the best he could for those under him.

"It was a lucky thing for me that I took that walk on the Brooklyn Bridge," he reasoned. "Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten the job otherwise."

The clerk, Wilson, proved kind and considerate, and under him our hero learned rapidly.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd strike luck," said Dick. "Now, all you've got to do is to nurse that job carefully, and you'll be at the top of the firm some day."

"Well, I am going to nurse it as carefully as I can," laughed Nat.

When our hero had time he went to the police headquarters to see if anything had been learned of Nick Smithers.

"Nothing yet," said the officer in charge. "But I think he'll be run down sooner or later."

"I'd like to run him