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

barn he shook his fist viciously at an imaginary enemy.

"Of all the fools!" he muttered. "I've been tuk in clean an' clear! She ain't got no pot o' gold, an' never did have! If this ain't jest the worst yet. Abner Balberry, you ought to be kicked full o' holes, and ducked in the pond besides!"

He felt in no mental condition to go back to the house, and so did not return until it was time for supper. He found a good meal awaiting him, and his wife on hand as pert as ever.

"What made you run off?" she demanded. "It wasn't a nice way to do."

"You fooled me about thet pot o' gold," he answered, bluntly.

"I never did, and I want you to stop talking about it, Abner Balberry."

This was said so sharply it fairly made him jump.

"Eh?"

"Did you marry me simply for my money?" she demanded, coming up to him with her hands on her hips.

"N—no!" he stammered.

"Well, then, stop talking about a pot o' gold. I haven't any, and neither have you."

"Ain't you got no money o' your own, Lucy?"

"If I have I'm going to keep it to myself," she answered. "Come to supper."

He sat down and ate in silence. The next day he wanted to speak about money again, but she cut him short.

"I don't want to hear about it," she said, tartly. "I'm your wife, and I am going to do my share, keeping house and helping around. And you have got to do your share, and treat me fairly. I once heard that the first Mrs. Balberry didn't get all that was coming to her—that she had to wear the same dress and bonnet for years. Now, I want to say, right now, that isn't my style. When I want a new dress I want it, and you are going to give it to me."

"Am I?" he said, slowly.

"Yes, you are, Abner Balberry, and if I want spending money you have got to give me that, too. If you don't, I'll quit work and won't do a blessed thing around the house. So there!"

She spoke with such vigor that it made him groan. He felt it in his bones that she meant to have her way.

"I am a-goin' to do my duty," he said, humbly.

"You'd better. If you don't——" and she ended with a shake of her head that meant a great deal.

"She's bound to have her way," he told himself later. "I've got to git used to it, I suppose. Drat the luck, anyway. I wish I had never heard o' thet pot o' gold!"

In a roundabout fashion Abner Balberry had heard that Nat had gone to Buffalo, and then he learned through a man who had been to New York that his nephew was in the metropolis. Abner had often longed to visit New York, and here he saw his opportunity to do so.

"I'm a-goin' to New York," he announced one day, shortly after the pot of gold incident.

"What are you going to do there?" asked his wife.

"I'm a-goin' to look fer Nat. I've heard he's down there, an' I want to save him from goin' to destruction."

"Better leave him where he is," said the new wife, who did not fancy another of her husband's people around the farm.

"No, I'm a-goin' to hunt him up. I feel it's my duty to do it."

"Then, if you go to New York, you have got to take me along, Abner."

"Take you along, Lucy?"

"Yes. I've always wanted to go to New York. Fred can take care of the farm while we are gone." Fred and the other Guff children had been installed on the place, but none of them had proved of much assistance. Fred, himself, was decidedly lazy—not half as willing as Nat, so Abner himself admitted.

"I don't see how I can take you, Lucy. It costs a heap to go to New York."

"Well, if you can spend the money on yourself, you can spend it on me, too," she answered, calmly.

"But it's my duty to go—to save Nat from goin' to the dogs."

"You didn't bother about Nat when you were courting me."

"I didn't know where he was, exactly."

"Pooh! Well, if you go you must take me. If you don't, you won't find me or the things when you get back."

This rather alarmed the miserly farmer, and he was half afraid she might sell off all his belongings, and clear out.

"All right, you shall go," he said, at last. "But it's goin' to cost a terrible sight o' money," he added, with a long sigh.

It was decided that they should start for New York on the following Monday morning. Mrs. Balberry had relatives at Rochester, and they made arrangements to stop over at that point for one night, for neither the farmer or his spouse wished to take a berth in a sleeping car.

"It's money thrown away," said Abner, "an', besides, who kin sleep with a car runnin' fifty miles an hour? If there was an accident a feller would be killed before he woke up!"

Mrs. Balberry's son, Fred, grumbled greatly at having to run the farm during their absence, and the mother had to promise the lad fifty cents a day for the extra work.

"It's an outrage," declared Abner, when he heard of this. "He ain't worth his keep!"

"He is my son, and you have no right to abuse him!" declared the new wife, and then the farmer found it best to say no more. He was discovering that his wife had a sharp tongue, and could use it on the slightest provocation.

Not to go to the expense of buying meals on the train, they provided themselves with a basket full of food, and set off bright and early at the time appointed. The run to Rochester was without incident, and Mrs. Balberry's relatives there treated them kindly. Then, on Tuesday, they took another train for New York, and late in the afternoon found themselves at the Grand Central Depot.

"It's a fearfully crowded place," was Abner Balberry's comment, as he gazed around.

"Which way are we to go, Abner?" asked his wife, and now she clung to him, for the bustle and noise frightened her.

"Let's git out on the street, where I kin have a look around," he answered, and pulled her along through the crowd. A boy wanted to take his carpet bag, but he shook the urchin off.

Fortunately, while at Rochester, the farmer had heard of a hotel which I shall call the Callac House, located but a few blocks from the station. A policeman directed the pair to this place, and here Abner Balberry succeeded in getting a room for a dollar and a half a night.

"Steep, ain't it?" he remarked, when he and his wife had been taken to the room, on the seventh floor.

"Steep? I should say it was, Abner—the seventh story! It's dreadful! I know I shan't sleep—thinking of what to do in case of a fire!"

"I meant the price. I don't care how high up it is."

"Will they give us meals for that, too?"

"No, the meals is extry."

"It's 'most a waste of money, I must say."

"Well, I had to pay it, an' so there ain't no use to talk about it. Let's go to bed, an' git our money's worth, an' in the mornin' I'll look fer Nat."

CHAPTER XVII A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

On the day that Abner Balberry started for New York to look for Nat, our hero was called into Mr. Garwell's private office.

"Nat, how would you like to take a run down to Trenton with me?" asked the gentleman, pleasantly.

"I'd like it first-rate, Mr. Garwell," was the prompt answer.

"Very well, we'll go in half an hour. I wish to look up certain records concerning some property."

"When will we be back, Mr. Garwell?"

"Oh, some time this evening," answered the gentleman.

It may be mentioned here that John Garwell was a real estate broker. He handled only high-class properties, and chiefly those used for business purposes. He had started years before in a modest way, but was now fairly well-to-do, and his business was steadily increasing. He had taken a great fancy to Nat, and was wondering if he could not use the lad as a private secretary.

"I'd do it in a minute if the boy knew shorthand and typewriting," he told himself. "Perhaps I can get him to learn those branches."

At the appointed time our hero was ready for the trip to Trenton. His employer had stuffed a valise full of legal papers, and Nat took possession of the bag.

"Be careful of that valise," cautioned Mr. Garwell. "The contents are very valuable."

"I'll look out for it," was the answer.

They walked to the ferry, and there took a boat to Jersey City, and then boarded a train bound for the capital city of New Jersey. Mr. Garwell had obtained seats in a parlor car, and the elegant furnishings impressed Nat deeply.

"These cars are like palaces," he said.

"They are certainly comfortable," was his employer's response.

On the trip to Trenton Mr. Garwell asked Nat much about himself, and at last the boy told his tale from beginning to end.

"I don't suppose you care to go back to the farm," said Mr. Garwell, with a quiet smile.

"No, sir, I want to stay in New York. I believe there is more of a future here for me than on the farm."

"Possibly that is true. You had positively nothing to do with that fire at your uncle's barn?"

"No, sir—I didn't even have a light around the place."

"But you saw somebody near by."

"Yes, sir. I thought it was my uncle."

"It must have been a tramp."

"Just what I think, Mr. Garwell."

"And you think your uncle is coming to New York to look for you?"

"He'll come, if the carfare doesn't scare him off. He is a very close man."

"Hum!" The real estate broker mused for a moment. "Well, if he comes, supposing you let me know? Maybe I can persuade him to allow you to remain in the city."

At this Nat's face brightened.

"Oh, Mr. Garwell, will you do that? I suppose, as my guardian, he has a legal right to order me back to the farm."

"We'll have to see about that. But he hasn't found you yet."

"That is true."

"You ought to let him know that you are well, and have a position. You need not give him your address."

"I'll write the letter to-morrow."

"Was your father a farmer?"

"Yes, sir, although when he was a young fellow like myself he lived in Brooklyn. His father and his grandfather were both born in New York."

"I see. Then you have city blood in your veins. That may account for your liking New York so much."

In a short time after the conversation came to an end, Trenton was reached, and calling a cab, Mr. Garwell had himself and Nat driven to one of the public buildings.

Here both spent some time in looking over legal records, and one of the records Nat had to copy off in pencil for his employer. After this, came a visit to a lawyer's office, and Nat was sent on a short errand.

When the business in Trenton was over, both found they had two hours to wait before they could get a train for home.

"Let us go and get a lunch," said Mr. Garwell, and led the way to a fine restaurant in that vicinity.

The real estate broker was on the point of entering the eating place when a child of five ran up to him, exclaiming:

"Papa, I want you to buy me some candy, please."

Now, as it happened, Mr. Garwell was a bachelor, so he was taken much by surprise, and so was our hero.

"Did you speak to me, my dear?" he asked, kindly.

"Why, yes, papa," answered the little one, readily.

"But I am not your father, child," and the real estate broker began to flush up.

"Oh, yes, you are!" came from the child.

"No. What is your name?"

At this the child laughed heartily.

"What a funny papa you are, to ask me my name. But won't you buy me the candy? Please, do," went on the little one, pleadingly.

"What a funny mistake," said Mr. Garwell to Nat.

"Don't you know the little girl?"

"Not in the least."

"Get the candy!" cried the child, petulantly.

"All right, I'll get you some candy, only don't call me papa," answered the real estate broker. And he slipped into a candy shop, and purchased some chocolates. He had just passed the confectionery over, when a middle-aged lady hurried up.

"Oh, mamma, see the candy papa bought me!" cried the little girl, gleefully.

"You shouldn't have bought her so much candy, Horace," said the lady to Mr. Garwell, severely. "Chocolates