Project Gutenberg's Dick Hamilton's Touring Car, by Howard R. Garis This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Dick Hamilton's Touring Car A Young Millionaire's Race For A Fortune Author: Howard R. Garis Release Date: October 30, 2016 [EBook #53406] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DICK HAMILTON'S TOURING CAR *** Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Transcriber's Note: Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. INTO THE WATER SPLASHED THE BIG TOURING CAR Dick Hamilton's Touring Car. Frontispiece—(Page 168.) DICK HAMILTON'S TOURING CAR OR A YOUNG MILLIONAIRE'S RACE FOR A FORTUNE BY HOWARD R. GARIS [Pg i] AUTHOR OF "DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE," "DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT," "FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER," "LARRY DEXTER AND THE STOLEN BOY," ETC. ILLUSTRATED THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK MADE IN U. S. A. Copyright, 1913, by Grosset & Dunlap PREFACE My Dear Boys: I am not going to detain you long over this, for, if you are anything like I was, when I was your age, you don't want a lengthy introduction. But I just want a moment or so of your time, to explain something of the kind of story this is—a sort of bill of fare, as it were. This is an account of how the young millionaire, Dick Hamilton, unexpectedly did a great service for a stranger, and how, later learning that this same stranger needed help in saving his fortune, Dick took strenuous action. For excellence in his studies at the Kentfield Military Academy, Dick's father gave him his choice of any automobile he wished. Dick found just the kind of a touring car he wanted—one large enough to sleep and live in, as he and his friends traveled about. In this car, which Dick named the Last Word, the boys set out for San Francisco. What happened to them on the way, how they foiled the plans of Dick's Uncle Ezra, how they came upon the strange man in the great salt desert, and how, in an exciting race, they tried to save him and blocked the plans of those who would take Mr. Wardell's fortune from him—all this you may read of in this book. It is the fifth volume of the "Dick Hamilton Series," and that you will like it as well as you have the preceding ones is the sincere wish of your friend, Howard R. Garis. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I Queer Actions 1 II Uncle Ezra 11 III Good News 20 IV To the Auto Show 28 V The Big Car 41 VI The Ruined Millionaire 48 VII On the Road 56 VIII Uncle Ezra Laughs 64 IX Dick Makes Plans 73 X Mr. Wardell's Confession 81 XI Off on the Trip 89 XII Uncle Ezra Plots 96 [Pg ii] [Pg iii] [Pg iv] [Pg v] XIII The Hand in the Dark 105 XIV A Blocked Road 114 XV Puzzled 121 XVI The Lame Man 129 XVII Giving Him a Lift 137 XVIII A Disappearance 142 XIX A Simple Trick 147 XX Down Hill 155 XXI Marooned 164 XXII An Engineering Problem 169 XXIII Off Again 176 XXIV A Night Encounter 182 XXV Into the Loneliness 189 XXVI Bad News 198 XXVII The Man in the Desert 206 XXVIII Important Information 211 XXIX On to 'Frisco 221 XXX Pursued 229 XXXI A Breakdown 236 XXXII The Race 244 XXXIII Just in Time 249 XXXIV The Fortune Saved 255 DICK HAMILTON'S TOURING CAR CHAPTER I QUEER ACTIONS "Here's cheerful news—not!" exclaimed Dick Hamilton, as he tossed a letter on the bed of the room occupied by himself and his chum, Paul Drew, at the Kentfield Military Academy. "Nice, rich, juicy news, Paul!" "What's the matter, old man? Has some one sent you a bill?" "No, but it's a note from my Uncle Ezra Larabee, of Dankville, saying he's coming to pay me a visit. Whew!" "A visit from Uncle Ezra; eh? Isn't he that sour-faced man who hates your bulldog, Grit, and who thinks football is a waste of time?" "That's the man, Paul. And he's the same uncle who tried to kidnap me, to teach me how sinful it was to go off and have a good time on my yacht. Oh, he's the limit!" "But if there isn't any love lost between you, why is he coming here, Dick? I think you told me he was about as near to being a miser as it's possible to get, and it costs money to come here from Dankville." "Oh, he isn't coming specially to see me—you can make up your mind to that, Paul. I'm only a side issue. Let's see what he says," and Dick took up the letter again. "'Dear Nephew Richard,'" he read—"he never calls me anything but Richard, you know. 'I hope you are doing well in your studies'—no, that isn't it—'I trust you have gotten rid of your savage dog'—no, it isn't there—quiet, Grit!" he called to a handsome-homely dog in one corner of the room, the intelligent beast having growled instinctively at the mention of Uncle Ezra's name. "Let's see, where is that part of his note?" went on Dick, leafing over the sheet. "He's wasteful enough of paper, ink and words, if he isn't of money. Oh, here it is. 'I have some business to attend to near Kentfield, and after I have finished I will run over and see you.' "There you are, Paul. You see he's only coming to see me as an after-thought. Probably he knows I'll ask him to take dinner with me in the mess hall, and he can save the price of a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Oh, Uncle Ezra is mighty saving!" "He must be." "Well, he won't be here until afternoon, Paul. So let's take advantage of it and go for a walk. You haven't anything on; have you?" [Pg vi] [Pg 1] [Pg 2] "No; drill's over and I'm through with lectures. I'm with you. Where do you want to go?" "Oh, anywhere. Let's walk out toward the hills. It's more like the country there, and with summer almost here I always want to get out in the woods and fields." "The same with me. It won't be long until vacation now. What are you going to do, Dick?" "I don't know," replied the young millionaire, musingly, as he donned a fatigue uniform. "Dad did think of going to Europe, and if he does I shall probably go with him. But I'd rather put in a good time on this side, with some of the fellows. What's your programme, Paul?" "It's up to the folks, and they haven't made up their minds yet. It's always a toss-up between the mountains and the seashore. I generally vote for the shore, though I wouldn't mind a trip across the mill-pond. However, I suppose I'll have to stick with the family. Well, are you ready?" "Yes. Come along, Grit!" and Dick had to brace himself against the demonstrative leaps of the fine animal that was delighted at going on a jaunt with his master. "I guess I'll leave word that if Uncle Ezra should come in while we're out, he can wait here for us," went on Dick, and on his way out he spoke to the care-taker in charge of the dormitory. "I have to be decent to him, if he did treat me pretty mean," went on Dick. "After all, he thinks he's doing right, and he is my dead mother's brother." "Did he say what his business was around here?" asked Paul. "No, but you can be pretty sure it is something to do with money. Probably Uncle Ezra is coming to collect some bill." "I'm glad I don't owe him anything, Dick." "The same here. He'd get the last penny from you. I pity anyone who does owe him, if he can't pay. Here, Grit, you never mind that cat," for the bulldog, with a low growl and a raising of the hair on the ridge of his back, had shown an inclination to chase a cat that scuttled across the drive from the barrack stables where the troop horses of the military academy were kept. "That must be a strange feline," remarked Paul. "Grit knows all the regulars." "Guess you're right, Paul. There goes Beeby. Hi, Innis!" Dick called to a tall cadet, crossing the parade ground. "Want to come for a walk?" "Can't—I've got some work to do." "'Work was made for slaves,'" quoted Paul. "Then I'm a slave," retorted Innis Beeby. "See you later," and he turned into his dormitory. Paul and Dick kept on by themselves, meeting chums and acquaintances occasionally, until they were well away from the military academy, swinging along a country road at a good pace—heads up, shoulders back and with a true military carriage, attained only after long practice. "Which way?" asked Paul, as they came to a place where the road branched off, one highway leading to Lake Wagatook, and the other to a small town about two miles away. "Let's go in to Westville. I want to see about getting a new collar for Grit. No, I didn't call you," he said to the bulldog, who came back on hearing his name. "On to Westville then," assented Paul, and not until some time afterward did either of them realize how their choice of roads that day had to do with an important epoch in the life of a certain young man. About half way to Westville the highway was crossed by a railroad embankment, the road being carried under it by a big culvert. It was on approaching this embankment that Paul, looking up, and seeing the figure of a man on the tracks, called Dick's attention to him. "Look there!" he exclaimed. "That fellow's acting mighty queer, Dick. I've been noticing him ever since we came in sight of the railroad. Watch him." Dick looked up. The man on the track above them did not seem aware of their presence. He would walk along the embankment a short distance, pause, and seem to be contemplating the rails; then, with an odd gesture would retrace his steps. "You're right, Paul, he does act queer," agreed Dick. "I wonder what he's up to?" "I don't know. Let's watch him a bit longer. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us." As they looked, the man sat down on a pile of stones near the edge of the track, and began looking through his [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] pockets. He seemed to find what he wanted—a bit of paper that fluttered in the wind—and then, placing it on his knee he began to write. "He's making notes," said Dick. "Maybe he's a track walker, and he's found some defect in the rails," suggested Paul. "Track-walkers don't dress that way. He's got a tailor-made suit on." "That's so, Dick. I wonder who he is?" Whatever the man was writing did not seem to take long, for he soon arose. Then the two cadets saw him carefully pin the paper he had written to the inner pocket of his coat. "Well, what do you know about that?" demanded Dick. "It looks strange," admitted Paul. "He sure isn't going to lose that paper." As he spoke the man resumed his pacing of the track. He came to the edge of the concrete bridge that carried the railroad over the highway, paused a moment, and then, with a shake of his head, retraced his steps. Then he came to a pause at the place where he had rested to write the note. He looked down the embankment, and once more shook his head. Suddenly the whistle of an approaching train was heard, though it was some distance off, and would not be along for several minutes. At the sound the man on the tracks threw his hands upward with a tragic gesture. "Paul!" cried Dick, "there's something wrong with that man! Maybe he's partly insane and doesn't realize his danger. I'm going up and tell him to get off the track." "Maybe it would be a good idea, Dick. Go ahead—I'm with you." The cadets scrambled up the yielding ashes and earth that formed the elevated embankment. As they advanced they could hear the distant rumbling of the approaching train. The man who had acted so strangely now saw them, but only regarded them with a sort of melancholy smile, and did not hasten away. "I beg your pardon," panted Dick, as he walked toward the stranger somewhat winded after his climb, "but it's dangerous up here. There's a train coming." "Thank you, I know it." The man spoke calmly, in contrast with his queer actions. "I thought perhaps you might be a stranger around here," the young cadet resumed. "There are two trains that pass here about the same time. You might get out of the way of one, and step in the path of the other." "Thank you for the warning," said the man. "I—er—I——" He hesitated, and seemed to be struggling with some emotion. "Perhaps I had better get off the track—for the present," he said, slowly. "You had, if you don't want to be killed!" exclaimed Dick, with a laugh that took the grim meaning from the words. "I guess we'd all better. The trains are getting nearer, and it's too good a world to leave by way of the iron route." "Is it a good world?" asked the man, suddenly. "I find it so," answered the cadet. "Especially in this kind of weather, and vacation so near at hand; eh, Paul?" "That's right!" "You are students at the Kentfield Academy then?" "Yes. Better move a bit faster. Here comes the express. It will pass the local on the bridge, I guess. Yes, there they both come." Whistles from the locomotives of the two approaching trains, which rounded curves at this point, showed that the two engineers had seen the figures on the track. "That's for us!" exclaimed Paul, quickly. The stranger did not answer, but slowly followed Dick, who scrambled down the embankment. Ere they reached the lower level the trains rushed thunderously past in a cloud of dust and cinders. "Now you can walk the track with more safety," remarked Dick to the man. "There won't be another train for three hours." "Thank you, I think I'll go the rest of my journey by the highway," and the man, with a little bow, turned aside, going in the direction from which the boys had come. As he walked along Paul turned in time to see him take from his pocket the note he had pinned there and tear it up, scattering the fragments along the road. [Pg 7] [Pg 8] [Pg 9] For a few moments Paul and Dick walked along in silence, Grit following at their heels. Then Paul spoke. "Dick!" he exclaimed, "do you know I think you saved that man from committing suicide!" "Suicide! Nonsense, Paul!" "That's right. If I ever saw despair and hopelessness on a man's face it was on his." "Well, he didn't look very happy, that's a fact. But what had that to do with an intention to take his own life?" "Lots, when you think of the way he acted." "Oh, you imagine it." "I do not! I believe he came here with the intention of throwing himself under a train, or at least allowing himself to be struck by one. I believe he wrote a note of farewell, and pinned it in his pocket so it wouldn't get lost. Just see how queer he acted! No one would stay on the track the way he did, with two trains coming, unless he had it in mind to get hurt. No, Dick, you can say what you like, but I believe your going up when you did, and talking to him, saved his life." "Well, I'd like to think that I did that for a fellow being, Paul; but I still can't admit it." "It's true, whether you admit it or not. You saved his life, and some day you'll know it, or I'm mistaken." "Oh, nonsense!" "No nonsense at all. You'll see. That man was at the end of his rope—he was all in. He was in despair, and he wasn't a common sort, either. He comes of a good family, I can see that. And the way you talked to him, just at the right moment—saying this was a pretty good old world after all—you saved his life, Dick—at least for a time." "Get out!" But in spite of his denial Dick felt glad that he had done what he had. And it was not until some time after that he learned what really had taken place. Under strange circumstances he was to meet that man again. CHAPTER II UNCLE EZRA "Quiet, Grit! What's the matter, old fellow?" "He seems to think some one is in our room," said Paul Drew. He and Dick had returned from their walk, Grit resplendent in a new, brass-studded collar, and the dog had shown signs of resentful excitement on nearing the door of the room where the two chums lodged. "I wonder——?" began Dick, and then, as he opened the door, and saw a rather grizzled man standing near the window—a man with a queer little tuft of whiskers on his chin—Dick exclaimed: "Uncle Ezra!" "Yes, Nephew Richard. I am here. I got through my business sooner than I expected and came over." "I'm glad you did, Uncle Ezra. Quiet, Grit, or I'll send you to the stable," for the dog was uttering low growls, and sidling closer and closer to the aged man, who still remained standing. It might be noticed that our hero did not say that he was glad to see his uncle. He was not, and he did not believe in saying what was not so, even to be polite. "Have you got that savage cur still?" demanded Mr. Larabee, while he bowed slightly in response to a salutation from Paul. "I expect to have Grit for a long time yet," replied his nephew, coldly. "Though if he annoys you I'll have him taken away," and he pushed a button on the wall. "He does annoy me! You know I can't abide dogs. Useless critters, eatin' almost as much as a man, all covered with fleas, and no good anyhow! Send him away!" "Grit, I guess you'd better go," said Dick, softly, as a janitor came in response to his ring. "Take him to the stable, Hawkins. I'll have him back—later," he added in a low voice. Grit was led off, whining in protest as he looked at Dick, and then shifting his tones to a menacing growl as he glared at Uncle Ezra, who, he well knew, was the cause of his banishment. "Ugly brute!" muttered Mr. Larabee. "I've been waiting quite some time for you, Nephew Richard," he went on. "I was afraid I'd have to go back without seeing you. I've got a limited excursion ticket, and if I didn't use it back to Dankville to-day I'd lose the value of it. Leastwise I might have to sue the railroad company to recover, and lawsuits is dreadful expensive—dreadful." [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] "We just went for a walk," Dick explained. "I did not know exactly what time you would come." "No, I couldn't tell, myself. But I got through my business sooner than I expected, even with attending to some after I got through with the deal that brought me on here." "It came out all right, I hope," ventured Dick. "Yes—oh, yes. My business allers does come out satisfactory—leastwise mostly." Perhaps Uncle Ezra was thinking of the time he had interfered with Dick's yachting trip, with disastrous results to himself. "I got all that was coming to me," the aged man went on, "though I did have a fight for it." "Did some one owe you money?" asked Dick. "Well, yes, in a way. You see it was a young fellow who had been left more money than was good for him. He didn't know enough to take care of it, and now I've got it." Uncle Ezra chuckled grimly. "I hope you didn't take all he had, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick. "Why shouldn't I?" Mr. Larabee asked, indignantly. "This chap didn't know the value of money—I do. He made certain investments, and I told him that I'd insist on having my last dollar if they failed. They did fail, just as I knew they would, and now I have his money. It was mine by right, though, for business is business, and he's young enough to start over again. It will do him good. Ha! Ha! I'll never forget how blank he looked when he asked me if I wouldn't give him another chance. Another chance! Ho! Ho! He had his chance and didn't use it. Another chance! I guess not! I want what's mine!" And Uncle Ezra ground his teeth and clenched his bony fists in a way that was not pleasant to contemplate. "Then you cleaned him out, Uncle Ezra?" asked Dick. "Not I—no. He cleaned himself out by his foolish investments. You can't have your cake and eat it too, you know. You can't be a 'sport' and not pay attention to your business, and expect to keep your money. You've got to be on the watch all the while. I made a pretty penny out of it—er—that is, not too much!" Uncle Ezra added quickly, as if fearful lest some one should attempt to borrow something from him. "But a legitimate profit—yes, a legitimate profit. "And, as I got through sooner than I expected, Nephew Richard, I came over to see you, as I promised. But I'll soon have to be getting back. I've got a new hired man, and I know he'll feed too much to the stock, and ruin 'em, to say nothing of wasting grain. I must get back before feeding time." "I hope you'll stay and take lunch with me," suggested Dick, as he thought he saw a hungry look in his uncle's face. "Yes, I might," was the answer, as though Mr. Larabee was doing Dick a favor. "Then I'll send word to have a place laid for you at our table. You know some of my friends, I think." "Humph! Yes, I do, and I can't say I altogether approve of 'em, Nephew Richard. They spend too much money." "Well I guess they've got plenty to spend," said Dick, for Kentfield Academy was attended by the sons of many rich men, though it was in no sense a snobbish institution. "Yes," went on Uncle Ezra, with a grim chuckle, "I came here to meet a young man, and I met him. I came to teach him a lesson, and I taught it. I guess Mr. Frank Wardell won't be so high and mighty after this. I cleaned him out—and it was all done in a regular way, too. I cleaned him out." "Ruined him, you mean, Uncle Ezra?" "Well, he accused me of that, but it wa'n't my fault. He brought it on himself, and he can start over again. He's young yet." "But what will become of him, Uncle Ezra, if he hasn't any money?" "I don't know, and he didn't either by the way he rushed off after I got through with him," and the old man chuckled. "But I reckon he can go to work like the rest of us. I offered him a place in my woolen mill at Dankville. I said I could pay him five dollars a week to start, though I know he wouldn't be wuth it. But he might learn the trade." Dick said nothing, but the thought of a ruined man, who must have had a considerable fortune, going to work for Uncle Ezra in the woolen mill for five dollars a week, struck our hero as being rather pathetic. "Did he take your offer, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul. "He did not!" exclaimed Dick's uncle. "He said he'd become a tramp first. Wa'al, he kin if he wants to—there's no law ag'in' it!" and again he chuckled mirthlessly. "I'll go see about lunch," volunteered Dick. "Oh, something for me, Toots?" he exclaimed, as he opened the door, and saw an old Sergeant standing there with an envelope in his hand. [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] "Yes, a letter, Mr. Hamilton." "It's from dad!" exclaimed our hero, as he noted the writing. "I hope he has taken my advice, and will withdraw you from this useless military academy," spoke Uncle Ezra. "It is time you went to work, Nephew Richard." "I'll be back in a little while," replied Dick, not taking the trouble to answer his uncle directly, and he hurried off down the corridor to arrange about having his guest at luncheon in the mess hall. While preparations for the meal are under way I shall ask for a few minutes of your time—you my new readers—while I briefly explain about Dick Hamilton, and introduce you more formally to him, as he has appeared in the previous volumes of this series. Dick was the only son of Mortimer Hamilton, of Hamilton Corners, in New York State. Mr. Hamilton was a millionaire, with varied interests, and Dick had a fortune in his own right, left to him by his mother. In my first book, called "Dick Hamilton's Fortune," I related how this inheritance came to the youth, and under what peculiar conditions, so that he really had to work hard to deserve it. And he nearly lost it at that. The second volume deals with Dick's life at a well-known military academy—Kentfield—and is entitled, "Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days." How he had to struggle against heavy odds, and how he won out, is related in the story. In "Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht," our hero found himself confronted with a queer problem. How he worked it out, and defeated the aims of Uncle Ezra, you will find fully set forth. Uncle Ezra Larabee was a curious character. He was quite rich, perhaps not so much so as Mr. Hamilton, but with a large fortune. He did not seem to enjoy life, however, and was continually preaching economy. He had a particular aversion to the bulldog, Grit, and, it might be said in passing, Grit returned the compliment, so to speak. When Dick and his chums at Kentfield found that their football challenge to the Blue Hill Academy was treated as a joke, they were quite angry, and justly so. True, the former military academy team was in poor shape, but the lads were eager to do better. And in "Dick Hamilton's Football Team," the fourth book of the series, I related how the young millionaire made a big change at Kentfield, and what came of it, and I also related how he was instrumental in helping his father in a business transaction. The Fall and football were things of the past, and now the long summer vacation was approaching. Baseball had the call, and Dick was acting as the academy pitcher with great success. A few weeks more and Kentfield would close until Fall, and what to do in the interim was puzzling not only Dick, but some of his chums. "Well, Uncle Ezra," said the cadet, as he came back into the room a little later, to find his chum Paul fidgeting about, for it was no joke to entertain Mr. Larabee, "I've arranged to have our lunch a little ahead of the rest. I know you want to catch your train." "Yes, I do. I don't want to waste my return ticket. I'll go down at once." Paul gave a sigh of relief, and winked at Dick. The three moved toward the dining hall, Dick making inquiries about his aunt, and some other distant relatives in Dankville, a place he hated above all others,—for his uncle's house there was almost the personification of gloom. "Wa'al, your aunt's as well as she can expect to be," remarked Mr. Larabee. "She suffers consid'able from stomach misery, and the doctor don't seem to do her no good. He charges enough too, and he's allers changin' the medicine. I should think he could take one kind and stick to it." "He has to try different kinds to see what is the best," suggested Dick. "I know, but you ought to see the bottles, only half-took, that I have to throw away. I tried to git a rebate on 'em, but the druggist said he couldn't use 'em. So I'm that much out," and Mr. Larabee drew a deep sigh. "Any news from home, Dick?" asked Paul, as the three sat alone in the mess hall, at a special table for visitors. "How is your father?" "By Jove! I forgot to read the letter!" exclaimed Dick, pulling it from his pocket. "Excuse me while I look at it," and he ripped open the envelope. CHAPTER III GOOD NEWS "Will you have some more of this roast beef, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul, doing the honors for Dick, who was busy over [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] the letter from his father. "Wa'al, I might have a bit more. It seems like pretty tender meat." "Yes, we get the very best at Kentfield." "Hum! If I was runnin' this place I'd buy the cheaper cuts, and save money. Tough meat is better for growing lads, anyhow. I wouldn't give 'em such expensive meat." "But we pay for it, Mr. Larabee." "It's a waste of money," replied the miser, and went on with the meal, which, to do Dick justice, was exceptionally good. Dick never believed in starving even his ill-natured relatives. "Hurray! This is great!" suddenly exclaimed the young millionaire. "Whoop! Oh, I say, excuse me, Uncle Ezra!" he added, quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you," for the aged man had jumped at Dick's exclamation, and some potato, covered with gravy, had fallen on his trousers. "That's jest like you boys—allers shoutin' and makin' a noise," rasped out Mr. Larabee. "I'll have to pay for havin' that spot taken out," and he scrubbed vigorously at it with a napkin. "That is, unless my hired man can start it with some of my harness soap. I guess I'll have him try when I get back. No use payin' a cleaner if my hired man can do it." "I'm sorry, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick, contritely, and trying not to smile at Paul Drew. "We can take it out here for you. A little ether will do the trick. It will dissolve the grease. I'll take you to the chemical laboratory after lunch." "No, the ether might eat a hole in my pants, and they're my second best ones. I'll wait until I git hum, and try the harness soap. Next time please don't yell so." "I won't, Uncle Ezra. But dad sent me some good news, and I just couldn't help it." "Is he going to take you to Europe this vacation?" asked Paul. "Europe! You don't mean to tell me that Mortimer Hamilton is going to waste money on another trip to Europe?" cried Mr. Larabee, in horror. "No, it isn't that," answered Dick. "He writes that as he sees by my reports I have done well this term, I may have just what I've been wanting a long time." "To go into some business, I hope," said Mr. Larabee. "That would be a sensible present, and I could offer you a place in my woolen mill at a salary of——" "No, thank you, Uncle Ezra," laughed Dick. "I think I'll stay here at Kentfield for another term yet." "But what is it your father is going to give you?" asked Paul. "Don't keep us in suspense." "It's a touring car!" cried Dick, in delight. "He says I can select the best and biggest car made, and send the bill to him. Hurray! Isn't that great news? Say, I can just about see where my vacation is coming in now, Paul." "That's right. You are in luck!" "A touring car!" cried Mr. Larabee. "You mean an automobile, Dick? Why you've got one already. It would be a shameful waste of money to buy another. You can take what a touring car would cost, and invest the sum in some good securities. I have some that I acquired from that young man I spoke of to-day." "I haven't a touring car," said Dick. "I have that little runabout; but it isn't much use. A touring car for mine!" "Oh, the sinful waste of this rising generation!" murmured Uncle Ezra, shaking his head, sadly. "What kind of a car is he going to give you, Dick?" asked Paul. "He says I can pick it out myself. I'll read you that part of the letter," and Dick quoted from the missive: "'I have been thinking of something you might like, Dick, as a sort of reward for your good work at school this winter. I know you have studied hard. I had a man come here to look over your runabout, thinking perhaps it could be fixed up, but he says it is hardly worth it. He advised trading it in for a new and up-to- date machine, and I think that best myself. "'I want you to be satisfied with what I get you, and I think the best way would be to let you pick it out yourself. So if you will look over some catalogues, which you can send for yourself, and let me know the make of car, I will attend to the rest'" "That's great!" cried Paul. "A terrible waste!" muttered Mr. Larabee. "Sinful!" "Good old dad!" exclaimed Dick, as he put the letter in his pocket. "I wonder what sort of a car I ought to take?" [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] "One that you can cross the country in," advised Paul. "That's what I'll do—I'll get a big touring car, and take some of you fellows with me. We'll have a great and glorious trip this summer!" "More waste! You would much better get work somewhere, Dick, and pay part of your expenses here," declared Mr. Larabee. "My mother arranged all that before she died," said the young cadet. "She wanted me to attend a military school, and left the funds for it. My tuition is all paid for." "Well, my sister never did know what she was doing," declared Mr. Larabee, bitterly. "Hold on!" exclaimed Dick, hotly. "Remember that she was my mother," and he spoke the word softly, for she had not been dead many years. "Ahem! Wa'al, I didn't mean anything," stammered Mr. Larabee. "Say, I've got to hustle to get my train," he added, quickly, looking at an ancient silver watch, which he pulled out of his pocket by means of a leather thong. "Come and see us at Dankville, Nephew Richard. Your aunt will be glad to have you, but you can't expect such meals as this," he went on hastily. "You know she has the dyspepsia, and she can't eat much, so I don't buy much. But come and see us." Dick mumbled something not quite distinguishable, and the meal came to an end. "I guess I'll just take some of this meat that's left over, and make myself a couple of sandwiches," said Mr. Larabee, suiting the action to the word. "No use in letting it go to waste," he added. "And I might get hungry before we get to Dankville. This will save me buying anything on the train," and wrapping up the sandwiches in a piece of newspaper he thrust them into his pocket. "Thank goodness I didn't take him to one of the tables with the fellows!" whispered Dick, as he winked at Paul. "He sure is the limit!" "This way to the trolley that goes to the depot," said Dick, as he escorted his uncle across the parade ground, Paul having excused himself. "I'm not going to take the trolley, Nephew Richard. I have plenty of time to walk the distance, and there is no use wasting five cents. It is grass most of the way, and I won't wear out my shoes none to speak of. I'm going to walk." "All right," assented Dick, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Good-bye. I'd go with you, but we have guard mount soon, and I'm officer of the day." "Foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted Mr. Larabee, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "You had better think twice about wasting money on that touring car, too, Nephew Richard. Don't take it—take the money and invest it." "I would rather have the car, Uncle Ezra. Remember me to Aunt Samanthy." "Um!" mumbled Mr. Larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the railroad. A trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the station, but he did not signal for it to stop. "He's happy," mused Dick. "He didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. Oh, he's happy all right. But, excuse me!" Just then Grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable, came rushing out to meet his master. Then the dog caught sight of the vanishing figure of Uncle Ezra, and with a growl sprang in that direction. "Here! Come back, Grit!" yelled Dick. "Come back!" The bulldog paused. Mr. Larabee looked back. The temptation was too much for the animal. He made another rush. "Call him back! Call him back!" yelled Mr. Larabee, breaking into a run. "If he bites me, Nephew Richard, I'll sue your father for damages! Call him back!" "Grit!" called the cadet, and the dog knew the consequences of disobeying that voice. Reluctantly he turned, but he sent menacing growls and barks in the direction of his traditional enemy. Mr. Larabee was still running as Dick turned back toward the parade ground, with Grit following reluctantly. "Grit, have you no manners?" asked Dick, but he could not help smiling. The dog wagged his tail, as though answering that he had not, and was glad of it. Dick turned to look after his uncle, who, casting occasional fearful glances back, was hurrying toward the station. And, as Dick looked, he saw a man turn from a cross road, and meet his uncle. The two stopped at the same time, and the stranger seemed to be questioning Mr. Larabee. If such was the case he got little satisfaction, for Dick's uncle could be seen to shake his head vigorously in disapproval, and then, with a gesture, to dismiss the other. The stranger hesitated a moment, and soon turned away. [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] "He looks just like the man Paul and I met on the railroad," mused Dick. "The one Paul said acted as if he was going to commit suicide. I wonder what he wanted of Uncle Ezra?" But Dick was not to know that for some time. CHAPTER IV TO THE AUTO SHOW "Come on now, Dick! Give him a teaser!" "You know how to make him bite!" "Two down! Only one more Dick, old man!" The occasion was the last of a series of baseball games between the Kentfield Military Academy and the Blue Hill Cadets, a rival organization. It was for the championship of the league, which coveted honor lay between Kentfield and Blue Hill, with the chances in favor of the former. Each nine had won a game in the final series of the best two out of three, and to-day would decide the matter. "That's the stuff, Dick old man!" "That's got him going!" "Make him fan again!" These cries greeted Dick's delivery of the ball to Lem Gordon, who was up for Blue Hill, for Lem had struck and missed. "Only two more like that Dick!" called Paul Drew, "and we'll be all to the merry." "Watch Lem poke it, though!" called Joe Bell, the plucky little captain of the Blue Hill nine. "A home run, Lem, or a broken bat." The lad at home plate nodded, and kept a close watch on Dick, who was winding up for another delivery. "Two balls—one strike," Innis Beeby called. "Watch yourself, Dick." Dick nodded comprehendingly. This was several days after the visit of Uncle Ezra Larabee, and the time had been devoted to getting the Kentfield team in shape for the final contest. It was an important one, for, as I have said, it would carry with it the championship of the Military League. The game had run along with nothing remarkable to distinguish it, and was now at the beginning of the ninth inning. Blue Hill had six runs to Kentfield's seven, and if Dick could strike this last man out the game would be ended in favor of the Kentfield nine, since they would not play out their half of the ninth. Blue Hill had two out, but Lem Gordon, the cadet at the bat, was a doughty hitter. Had he gone in earlier in that inning there might have been a different story to tell. "Strike two!" called the umpire, and a wave of cheering seemed to roll over the grandstand—cheers in which the shrill voices of girls could be heard. "Oh, I do hope Dick strikes him out!" exclaimed Mabel Hanford, one of a party of pretty girls in the main stand. "Isn't he fine?" "Who—Dick or Lem?" asked Nellie Fordice. "Dick, of course, though Lem is very nice, and he's a dandy dancer." "So is Dick," declared Nettie French. "Oh girls! are you going to the graduation ball?" "If we're asked," answered Mildred Adams. "Oh, let's watch the game," suggested Mabel, and the four girls, with whom Dick and his chums were on friendly terms, gave their attention to the contest. The interest on the part of the big crowd present was now intense. The next ball might tell the tale, for if Dick struck out the batter, the game would end. On the other hand if Gordon got a safe hit, he would be followed by another good batsman, and the game might go at least another half inning, and in case Kentfield could not make a winning run, continue on for some time longer. Dick felt a bit nervous as he got ready to deliver the next ball. It was two and two now. "I've got to get it over the plate, and yet fool him," thought Dick. "I wonder if I dare risk a little slow twister. If he hits it, [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] we're goners though—that is, we'll have to fight it out the rest of this inning. Well, here goes!" As he was about to deliver the ball he heard the barking of Grit over in one of the grandstands, where a chum, who was not playing, was keeping the bulldog. "Good old Grit!" mused Dick. "That's his way of cheering, I guess!" Swiftly the ball left Dick's fingers, shooting toward the batter. Lem stepped back a trifle, and then lunged forward to meet the horsehide. And he did meet it with his bat, full and true. With a vicious "ping!" the ball shot back, out over the diamond, shooting upward, and laying a course just between the left and centre fielders. Both players converged to meet it, but the ball passed over their heads, as they had to run back. "Go on, Lem! Sprint for it!" "Show 'em how you can run!" "Leg it, old man! Leg it!" "A home run! A home run!" "We'll beat 'em yet! Go on! Go on!" But Lem needed not the hoarse cries to urge him on. He needed not the frantic cheers of his comrades in arms nor those who sat in the grandstands. No sooner had he felt the magic of that meeting between his bat and the ball, than he sprang forward like some stone from an ancient catapult, tossing the stick to one side. And how he did run! The second baseman stood ready to relay the ball home, as soon as the frantic rightfielder should get it. But the horsehide had rolled into the deep grass. There was some delay in finding it, and by that time Lem was at second. As he rounded that the centrefielder got his fingers on the ball. Like a flash he threw. "Come on! Come on!" screamed the Blue Hill captain, and Lem came. He beat the ball to third base, and kept on. He heard the thud of the horsehide striking the mit of the third baseman, and thought all was lost, but he dared not turn to see. Then a groan—a groan of despair from the Kentfield stand—told him what had happened. The third baseman had muffed it. There was still a chance for the runner. Lem's feet and legs scarce could carry him onward, but he forced them to. The shortstop was racing madly for the ball. He and Dick collided, and when the ball was finally recovered by the chagrined third baseman himself, Lem was so near home that it was a foregone conclusion that he would tally the tieing run. And he did. The ball came with a "plunk" into the catcher's big mit, and then the umpire called out: "Safe!" Joyful pandemonium broke loose in the Blue Hill ranks. "We've got a chance to beat 'em!" they yelled. And truly this was so, but it was a very slim chance. "Never mind, Dick," consoled Beeby. "You can strike out Ed Mayfield." "Don't let him get a look in, and we can easily pull one run out when we get to the bat," urged Paul Drew. "All right," answered Dick, shortly. He had taken a chance on Lem not hitting that ball, but the unexpected had happened. Dick pulled himself together, and faced Ed Mayfield, the next batter up, who was nervously dancing about the plate, trying by means of grins and gibes to disconcert the pitcher. But Dick was not built that way. Calmly he sized up his opponent and sent in a ball that fooled him. Then came something in the nature of a fizzle, when the umpire called a ball. It began to look a bit dubious when the next was a ball also. "Careful, Dick," warned the captain. "We can't afford to go to pieces now." Dick did not answer, but there was a grim tightening of his lips. Then he sent in a viciously swift ball. "Strike two!" called the umpire, sharply. "Ah!" came as a sort of chorus from the big crowd. "Dick's all right now," declared Paul Drew, in a low voice. And so it proved. Without giving another ball, Dick put over another delivery, which resulted in a strike, and to it the umpire added: "Strike three—batter's out!" The score was a tie. "Now, Kentfield!" came the excited cry. "Show 'em how to win this game! One run will do it!" [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] The home team came pouring in from the various parts of the diamond, ready to bat. Paul Drew was to start off, and managed to get to first. But he was caught stealing second. Then Teddy Naylor got to third, but was held there as Hal Foster struck out. "Two down," came the mournful cry. It began to look as though the game would go ten innings, with the ever-increasing chance that Blue Hill would win, or at least improve her opportunity. The score was still a tie. "Hamilton up!" called the scorer. "Dick, you've just got to make a hit!" "Bring in Naylor!" was implored. "Knock the cover off, Dick!" These were only a few of the cries that greeted our hero as he stepped to the plate. Ordinarily Dick was a good safe hitter, in contrast to many pitchers, but this time, when so much depended on his skill, he found himself feeling nervous. "Here, this won't do!" he told himself. "Brace up. Think of that big touring car you're going to get and the fun you'll have. Think of Grit—and Uncle Ezra." The memory of how the aged man had hurried away from Grit's threatened attack brought a smile to Dick's face. He could feel his nervousness leaving him, but he was brought to a realizing sense of the importance of paying more strict attention to baseball, by hearing the umpire call sharply: "Strike one!" Dick had let the first ball pass him without making a motion toward it, though it was just where he wanted it. "Watch yourself," called Paul Drew, in a low voice. Dick saw that he must. He looked narrowly at the pitcher and, from previous experience, he thought he knew what kind of a ball was coming. "I'm going to hit it!" said Dick fiercely to himself. He stepped right into it, before the curve had time to "break," and when he felt the impact of his bat on the horsehide he knew that he had made a hit. "It's good for two bags anyhow!" he murmured as he sprinted toward first, and had a vision of Naylor racing in from third. "Go on Dick! Go on!" "Run! Run old man!" "A homer—a homer!" "And a homer it's going to be!" cried Dick, as he passed second, and saw the right fielder vainly racing after the ball which had been sent away over his head and back of him. It was a better hit than that of Gordon. Dick saw Naylor cross the home plate and then he was at third himself. The ball was slowly coming in from the fielder, but the throw was such a long one that the second baseman had to run out to meet it. "They'll never get it home in time," thought Dick, as he staggered onward, for he had run hard and his legs were trembling. "I can beat it home." And he did, crossing the rubber before the ball was in the catcher's hands. Then such cheering as broke out. Naylor's run had put Kentfield one ahead, and Dick's made two. It was sensational playing, with two home runs so close together, and the crowd appreciated it. Kentfield had the championship now. "Kentfield! Kentfield! Kentfield! Rah! Rah! Rah! Boom! Boom! Boom! Ah! Ah! Ah! Kentfield!" Thus the school cry was given, coming from a thousand hoarse throats, and then came: "Three cheers for Dick Hamilton!" The grandstands rocked and swayed and creaked with the stress of emotion displayed. "It was great, old man! Great!" cried Paul, clapping his panting chum on the back. [Pg 35] [Pg 36] "Thanks. I knew I had to do it to save the game." "And you did!" exclaimed Beeby. "Somebody punch me—I'm too happy to last!" Some one obliged him with such force that Beeby stumbled, and to save himself he had to execute a forward somersault, at which trick he was an adept. "Armstrong up!" called the scorer, when he could make himself heard. "Oh, what's the use of playing it out?" asked Beeby. "Let's sweeten the score if we can," urged Dick, who did not like doing anything by halves. But there was little interest in the game now, for Kentfield had won, and nothing could take it from her. Still Armstrong got up, and promptly fanned out, over which fact there was no regret, rather gladness on the part of the champions, who wanted to quit and celebrate. Dejectedly Blue Hill filed off the field, after they had cheered and been cheered. The great game was over, the crowds thronged down from the grandstands. The Kentfield nine and the substitutes got together, and cheered Dick to the echo. Then with a singing of the song that always followed a victory they dispersed to the dressing rooms. Their baseball season was over. "You certainly did yourself and us proud, Dick," said Paul, as he and his chum walked away together. "I wish Uncle Ezra could have seen you." "Oh, he'd probably say that the money spent on baseball might better be used to buy interest-bearing bonds," laughed Dick. "But say, I thought I saw some of the girls here." "They are. We'll look 'em up after we tidy up a bit." And then came the shower baths, a changing into clean raiment and a gladsome time with the girls, who crowded around the hero of the day. "Well, I suppose we'll soon be away from here," remarked Paul that night as he, Dick and Innis Beeby sat in the room of the latter, and talked over the great game. "Yes, my folks wrote to say that the cottage by the sea was open, and I'm expected there soon," said Innis. "I'm booked for the White Mountains this trip," said Paul, "and I'm not very keen for it, either." Dick was silent for a few seconds, looking over some papers. "What are you going to do, old man?" asked Paul. "Fellows, I've got the best scheme yet!" exclaimed Dick. "I've just got it worked out. What do you say to a trip to California with me in the new auto I'm going to get? Will you come?" "Will we!" cried Innis without a moment's hesitation. "Will a duck swim?" "Put her there, old man!" yelled Paul, slapping his hand into that of Dick. "When do we start?" "Do you mean it?" asked Dick, hardly believing his chums were in earnest. They assured him that they did. "Then here's my game," he went on. "Dad wrote to me to get some catalogues and pick out the auto I wanted. I'm going to go him one better." "What's that?" asked Paul. "Have a car made to order?" "No, that would take too long. But the New York Automobile Show is on, in Madison Square Garden. There are lots of cars there that can be bought for immediate delivery. And I can pick out a car twice as good from seeing it, rather than by looking at a picture of it. "Now we three will take in that auto show. I'll pick out the car I want, dad will foot the bill, according to his promise, and we'll start on our tour across country. How does that strike you?" "Great!" declared Innis. "Bully!" assented Paul. "Dick, you're a gentleman and a scholar. This is too much!" and he pretended to weep on Beeby's shoulder. "Then pack up, and we'll leave day after to-morrow for New York," said Dick. "I'll write to dad. I'd go to-morrow only I don't want to miss the graduation dance." "No, and I fancy someone else doesn't either," said Paul, with a significant glance at the picture of a pretty girl on the bureau....