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

office building. He went upstairs, and managed to get a peep into the office, and found Rufus Cameron was not there.

"Of course he may have been here already," he told himself. "But I've got to take my chances about that. I'll stay here until the place shuts up."

Going below again, he took a station across the street and began to wait patiently for the appearance of Rufus Cameron.

As luck would have it, he had waited less than half an hour when he saw Mrs. Parloe's nephew step from a car at the corner, and approach the office building.

"Mr. Cameron, I want to see you!" he exclaimed, coming forward, and confronting the man.

Rufus Cameron had not expected to meet Nat again so soon, and for the moment he was dumfounded.

"Wha—what do you want?" he stammered, halting.

"You know well enough what I want," answered our hero, sharply. "I want that document you stole from me."

"Stole from you!"

"That is what I said, Rufus Cameron."

"I—I don't know what you are talking about."

"You do know, and unless you give up the paper I am going to have you arrested right now."

At these words Rufus Cameron turned pale. As said before, he was a good deal of a coward, and being caught so unexpectedly threw him somewhat from his mental balance.

"You—you can't have me arrested!"

"Yes, I can."

"How did you come to look for me here?"

"Mr. Garwell sent me here. He is up to your tricks."

"Did he tell you to—to have me arrested?"

"Never mind what he told me. I want that paper, and I want it right now."

"I—I haven't got any paper. I—I don't know what you are talking about."

"Yes, you have got that paper. You took it from me after you knocked me down in your aunt's parlor. Isn't that so?"

As Nat finished he nodded, as if talking to somebody behind Rufus Cameron. At once the guilty fellow turned his head to learn who was listening to the conversation. As he did this, Nat thrust his hand in the rascal's breast pocket, and brought forth the document which had caused all the trouble.

CHAPTER XXII AT THE ELEVATED STATION

"Hi, stop that!" roared Rufus Cameron, making a clutch for the document. But before he could reach it Nat was at a safe distance. Our hero glanced at the paper, to make certain that it was the right one, and then put it in his pocket, and buttoned up his jacket.

"Now, Mr. Rufus Cameron, I guess we are square," said Nat, in something a tone of triumph.

"You young thief, give me back that document," cried the man, savagely.

"Not much! I am going to give it to Mr. Garwell."

"That isn't his document."

"Yes, it is."

"I say it isn't. If you don't give me the paper, I'll call a policeman."

"Do it, and I'll have you arrested for knocking me over with the sea shell and robbing me."

Rufus Cameron glared at our hero. He was baffled and did not know what to do next. Presently a crafty look came into his eyes.

"See here, you're a pretty smart boy," he said, in a calmer tone.

"Thank you for nothing."

"What is John Garwell going to give you for getting that paper?"

"Nothing—at least I don't expect anything."

"You're a fool to work for nothing," sneered Rufus Cameron. "You'll never get rich doing that."

"If I don't it will be my own affair."

"Do you understand this business at all, boy?"

"I understand some of it."

"Don't you know that John Garwell is trying to defraud my aunt out of a lot of money?"

"I certainly know nothing of the kind."

"It's a fact. I am only trying to protect my aunt's interests. She is rather queer in her head at times, and doesn't know what she is doing."

"She wasn't queer when she signed this paper."

"Yes, she was. But we will let that pass. Give me the paper, and I'll pay you handsomely for it. You can tell Garwell that you couldn't locate me."

"How much will you give?" asked Nat, although he had no intention of accepting the rascal's offer.

"I'll give you—five dollars."

"That isn't much. The paper is worth more."

"No, it isn't."

"I won't give it up for five dollars."

"Well, we'll make it ten dollars. Come, hand the paper over. It's easy money for you."

"The paper is worth every bit of a hundred dollars," said our hero, just to draw the rascal out, and learn if possible how valuable Rufus Cameron really considered the document.

"A hundred dollars! Nonsense! But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm sorry I knocked you down at my aunt's house. I'll give you twenty-five dollars."

"When will you pay me?"

"Now," and Rufus Cameron brought forth a roll of bills.

"You can keep your money, Rufus Cameron."

"Eh?"

"I wouldn't touch a penny of it. Do you know what I think? I think you are a first-class scoundrel."

"What! This to me?" stormed the fellow, shoving his money back into his pocket.

"Yes, that to you. I am sorry Mrs. Parloe has such a rascal for a relative. Now, I am going to bid you good-day." And Nat began to move away.

"Come back here, you young villain!" cried Rufus Cameron.

He made a dash for our hero, but Nat was too quick for him. The boy ran across the street and around a corner, and in a moment more was out of sight. Rufus Cameron shook his fist in impotent rage.

"The jig's up!" he muttered. "What a mess! I thought I'd get a thousand dollars out of Shanley for that paper!"

Nat did not slacken his pace until he had reached the river. Then he ran aboard a ferry boat, and journeyed thus to New York, thinking that possibly his enemy would watch the cars.

When our hero reached the office he found that the regular force of clerks had already left, but his employer was still at his desk, finishing up some business of importance.

"Hullo! you are back quickly," exclaimed John Garwell.

"Yes, sir, and there's the document," answered Nat, and placed the paper on the desk.

John Garwell stared in amazement.

"Why, how did this happen?" he queried.

"It was blind luck, I guess," said Nat, and sitting down, he told his tale.

"You certainly were lucky. So that rascal wanted to bribe you?"

"Yes. I half felt like knocking him down for it." And Nat's eyes flashed.

"It would have served him right." The real estate broker looked the document over. "Yes, this is all right." He opened the sheet. "Hullo, here is a memorandum of some kind."

The memorandum was on a sheet of plain white paper. It contained a name and address and some figures.

"Eureka!" almost shouted the real estate broker. "This is luck, truly."

"What have you found, Mr. Garwell?"

"An address I have been hunting for for over a year. Now I can put that real estate deal through without further trouble. I knew Shanley or this Cameron had that address, but, of course, they wouldn't give it to me."

"I'm glad I got it for you."

"I imagine Rufus Cameron will be very angry when he learns that he has lost this address."

"It's his own fault."

There was nothing more for Nat to do that day, so he went home, and in the evening attended the night school where he had taken up shorthand and typewriting. He was making rapid progress, and he applied himself diligently.

On the following day, John Garwell was away from the office until the middle of the afternoon, and he also went off the next morning. On his return, his face wore a satisfied look.

"Well, that thing is settled," he said, on dropping into his chair. "And what a row I did have with Mr. Andrew V. Shanley!"

"You mean about that property?" queried Nat, looking up from his work at a side desk.

"Yes. I have sold the property and got my commissions, amounting to four thousand dollars in all. Shanley was as mad as a hornet."

"Did he mention Rufus Cameron?"

"No, but I did, and told him just what a dirty sneak the fellow was. After that Shanley shut up pretty quick."

"Do you suppose Rufus Cameron can do anything more in the matter?"

"No. But he will have it in for you, Nat, I am afraid."

"Oh, I guess I can take care of myself," answered our hero, calmly.

"This Shanley has tried to trip me up several times," went on John Garwell, leaning back in his office chair. "He tries to find out what I am doing, and then he does his best to steal the business away from me."

"Maybe this will teach him a lesson."

"Possibly; but I am afraid not, Nat."

Several days passed, and Nat kept at work steadily. During that time he received a letter from his uncle, in which Abner Balberry stated that he had arrived home once more, and found everything on the farm all right.

"Uncle Abner isn't such a bad sort after all," thought Nat, "Only he ought to drop some of his miserly habits. Perhaps, now that he is married again, he will."

One day our hero had to go up to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street on an errand.

"Take an elevated train," said his employer, and handed him the necessary carfare.

It did not take Nat long to reach the elevated station. Purchasing a ticket, he dropped it in the box, and walked out on the platform.

Only a few people were present, for it was the quiet hour of the morning. Among the number was a thick-set, trampish-looking fellow, who was smoking a short clay pipe. The man was more than half intoxicated, and lurched from side to side as he walked along the platform.

"That fellow had better look out for himself," thought our hero. "If he isn't careful, he may fall out on the tracks and get hurt."

As our hero had some time to wait for a train, he passed the man several times. The face of the fellow looked familiar, and Nat wondered where he had seen him before.

"I've certainly met him somewhere," thought the boy. "But where? I don't think it was in New York."

Presently the elevated train came into sight and those on the platform prepared to get aboard when it should stop for them.

The man lurched forward as before, and of a sudden fell sprawling directly in front of the train.

CHAPTER XXIII TOM NOLAN'S CONFESSION

A cry of horror went up from those who saw the mishap, and some women present turned their heads away, expecting that the semi-intoxicated individual would be killed.

Nat's heart leaped into his throat, but he did not lose his presence of mind. He was but a few feet from the man, and as quick as a flash he jumped forward, caught the fellow up, and dragged him out of harm's way.

"Wha—what yer doin'?" stammered the fellow, gazing unsteadily at our hero.

"Do you want to be killed?" asked Nat, sharply.

"They won't—won't dare to kill me," said the fellow. "I'm a—a—good citizen."

"He ought to be locked up," said a man standing near.

"It was a brave deed," said one of the ladies.

"Who's goin' to lock me up?" demanded the tramp, for he was nothing less. And he began to show fight, at which the majority of the crowd turned away, and hurried to board the train. Nat hesitated for a second, and then concluded to let the train go on and take the next one.

"Say, you pulled me from the track, didn't you?" said the man, after another look at Nat.

"I did."

"Noble boy. I ought to reward you."

"I don't want any reward."

"Humph! Don't worry, my dear friend—Tom Nolan ain't got no money to reward you with." And the semi-drunken man indulged in a senseless chuckle.

"See here, haven't I met you before?" demanded Nat, looking at the man more closely than ever.

"Maybe yer have, an' maybe yer haven't."

"Where do you come from?"

"Me? I'm an Ohio man, I am, and I ain't ashamed to own it. Ohio's best State in the Union."

"So you are from Ohio. Were you ever in and around Brookville and Caswell?" went on our hero, suddenly.

"Sure. I spent two months in that district not very long ago. But I had to git out, I did." And the tramp chuckled again.

"What made you get out?" And now Nat was all attention.

"Folks didn't like me around."

"Didn't you treat them fairly?"

"Sure I did, but they thought their barns was too good for Tom Nolan to sleep in."

"And that's why they chased you away, eh?"

"Thet's it, my young friend. It was this way—to tell the plain truth. One night I went to sleep in a barn with my pipe in my mouth. Fust thing I knowed some hay got afire. A man came runnin' to put the fire out, and I had to leg it to git away."

"Was that up between