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

guess so," and our hero ordered the pie, and also ate a piece, and drank a glass of milk, to keep Fred company.

"It costs a terrible pile to live in the city," sighed Fred. "You've got to pay for everything. When I landed, a man made me pay ten cents for crossing a torn-up street."

"He swindled you, Fred."

"Maybe he did. I know he ran off as soon as he got the money."

"Where were you going to stop to-night?"

"I—I don't know."

"You had better come with me."

"I—I can't pay for regular lodging," and again the boy from the farm hung his head.

"Well, I'll do the paying."

"Will you?" Fred's face brightened. "Say, Nat, you're real good! I'm sorry I treated you so meanly when you paid us a visit."

"We'll let that pass. Now, you are here, the question is, what are you going to do?"

"Can't I find a job? I'm willing to do anything."

"We'll see about that."

They walked to Mrs. Talcott's place, and here Nat explained the situation, and Fred was placed in a room that chanced to be vacant. He was exceedingly tired and dropped to sleep almost instantly.

"I'm going to telegraph to Brookville that you are here and safe," said Nat, the next morning. "I don't want your mother to worry about you." And the telegram was sent off before our hero went to the office. Nat gave Fred a dollar, and told him to try his best that day to find something to do.

"I'll get something," said Fred, but that night he came back greatly disheartened.

"I couldn't get a thing," he declared. "I tried about fifty places. In one place a man kicked me out, and in another place a lot of boys called me 'Hayseed,' and threw lumps of dirt at me. I—I guess I'll go back to the farm."

"Don't you want to try it for another day?" asked Nat. "I'll pay your way." He knew the experience would do Fred good. The boy from the country consented; but at night he returned more discouraged than ever.

"I was a big fool to leave the farm," he sighed. "The city is no place for me. The noise makes my head ache, and I get lost every time I turn a corner. I wish I was back to Brookville."

"Very well, you shall start back to-morrow," answered Nat.

"But I ain't got the carfare, and I hate to try riding on the freight cars again."

"I'll get you a railroad ticket," answered Nat, and he did so, and also gave Fred some change for his meals. Fred was more than thankful, and actually cried on parting.

"You're the best boy in the world, Nat," he sobbed. "The very best! Just wait till you come back to the farm! I'll show you how I can treat you!" And then he was off for home, a sadder but a wiser youth.

"To go back to the farm was the best thing that fellow could do," was Dick's comment. "Why, he wouldn't amount to shucks here, even if he stayed a year."

"We can't all be city folks," said Mrs. Talcott. "Some men must remain farmers."

"The trouble with Fred is, he doesn't like to work," said Nat. "But this may teach him a lesson."

On the day that Fred left, Nat was called to the office by John Garwell.

"Nat, I want you to go to Springfield, Massachusetts, immediately," said the real estate broker. "See when you can catch a train."

"A train leaves the Grand Central Depot at eleven-thirty," was our hero's answer, after consulting a time-table.

"Then you have plenty of time. Take this document and turn it over to Mr. Perry Robertson."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't give it to anybody else."

"Shall I wait for Mr. Robertson, if he isn't in when I call?"

"Yes."

"All right, sir."

No more was said, and Nat prepared for the trip without further delay. He wished to ask his employer about the documents found in the trunk, but saw that Mr. Garwell was too busy to be interrupted.

Nat was getting used to taking short trips to various cities, so the ride to Springfield was no great novelty. He put in part of his time at reading a newspaper, and the balance at studying shorthand from a book which he carried with him.

Arriving at Springfield, Nat found he would have to wait until evening before he could see Mr. Perry Robertson. This made him stay in the city overnight, and he did not arrange to go back to New York until ten o'clock the next morning.

He had just paid his bill at the hotel, and was passing the smoking room, when he saw a man who looked familiar, get up from reading a newspaper, and walk toward him.

"Hamilton Dart!" gasped our hero, and rushing forward he caught the swindler by the arm.

CHAPTER XXVII A SCENE AT THE HOTEL

The fellow who had posed as a broker and commission merchant was taken completely by surprise when confronted by Nat, and for the moment did not know what to say.

"I guess you didn't expect to see me again," said our hero, after a pause, during which Nick Smithers—to use his real name—glared fiercely at the youth.

"Excuse me, boy, but I don't know you!" said the swindler, at last. "You have made a strange mistake."

"Oh, no, I haven't," answered Nat. "You are Hamilton Dart, alias Nick Smithers."

"My dear young friend you are in error. My name is Josiah Garfield, and I am from Concord, Massachusetts."

"I am not mistaken. You are Nick Smithers, and you are the rascal who swindled me in New York City."

"Boy, you must be mad!" burst out Nick Smithers, in assumed indignation. "I a swindler! Preposterous!"

"It's the plain truth, and there is no use of your denying it."

By this time a small crowd was gathering around. Soon a clerk of the hotel came up hastily.

"What's the trouble here?" he questioned, anxiously.

"This boy is crazy," said Nick Smithers.

"No, I am not. This man is a swindler, and I want him arrested," came from Nat. He made up his mind, come what might, he would stand up for his rights.

"I am an honest man—well-known in Concord, where I keep a jewelry establishment," puffed Nick Smithers. "This is an insult to me." He turned to the hotel clerk. "I shall hold your hotel responsible for this."

"I—this looks as if you were making a mistake," said the clerk to Nat. "This gentleman has been stopping here for over a week. He is registered on our book as Josiah Garfield."

"He has half a dozen names," said Nat. "I tell you he is a swindler."

"And I say the boy is crazy. Boy, if you say another word, I'll have you locked up."

Nick Smithers thought Nat was so green that he would back down, but for once he made a mistake.

"Call a policeman, please," he said to the clerk. "We can talk this over when we get to the police headquarters."

"Are you sure of what you are doing?" asked the clerk.

"Yes, I am sure of it. I can prove beyond any doubt whatever that this fellow is a confidence man and a swindler. He swindled me out of a hundred dollars in New York, and he swindled several others out of the same amount. Just help me to lock him up and I'll get all the witnesses necessary."

"That's straight talk," came from a commercial traveler standing nearby. "If the boy can prove what he says this man ought to be arrested by all means."

"He can't prove a thing," answered Nick Smithers, but he began to grow hot and cold, for he realized that Nat meant business and was not to be overawed as easily as he had imagined.

"I'll call a cop!" piped in a newsboy who had drifted into the room. "I see one on de corner a minit ago," and away he ran to execute his errand.

"The police will have to settle this," said the hotel clerk. "If you are making a mistake it will cost you dear," he added, to Nat.

"I am making no mistake," answered our hero, firmly.

This reply set Nick Smithers to thinking. To try to bluff Nat was one thing; to prove his innocence at the police station might be quite another.

"I can't bother to go to the station—I've got to get a train for Boston!" he cried, and ran from the room with all of his speed.

"Stop him!" yelled Nat, and, began to give chase. "Stop him!"

The cry was taken up by several others, and all began to run after Nick Smithers.

"Keep my valise—I'll catch him if I can!" said Nat, to the hotel clerk, and off he sped, and was soon ahead of the others who had joined in the chase.

If there was one thing that Nick Smithers could do well, it was to run, and now he made the best possible use of his rather long legs. He darted out of a side door of the hotel, down the square, and around a corner leading into a back street lined with small shops and dwellings.

"The young fool!" he muttered, as he sped along. "Who would have dreamed of his turning up in such a place as this?"

At last the swindler turned into another street. A car was passing and he hopped aboard this. Not to be seen, he dropped into a seat and crouched down. He rode on the car a distance of a dozen squares and then left, and hurried to a small house setting far back, in a rather neglected garden. The house was to let, and he pretended to be looking it over, and thus passed to a back porch and out of sight.

Nat continued the hunt for the swindler for a good hour and then gave it up.

"Well, how did you make out?" asked the hotel clerk, upon his return.

"He got away from me."

"He put on a pretty good front, if he was a swindler."

"Yes—that's how he came to swindle me and several others," answered our hero.

"Did you report the case to the police?"

"There is no use of doing that."

"Why not? They'll help you all they can."

"That may be true. But by the time my report is in, that rascal will be miles and miles away."

Nevertheless, Nat was persuaded to report to the city authorities before he went to the railroad station. He had missed his train and so had to lay over until three hours later.

This was fortunate for him, for a little later came a telegram from John Garwell, which ran as follows: