From Farm to Fortune; or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience

"Let us attend to your wife first," was the answer, and soon the lady of the house was restored to her senses. Then began a series of explanations.

"It was dreadful of me to make such a mistake," said Mrs. Mann, hysterically. "But—but–"

"I don't wonder at it—now," answered John Garwell. "Your husband could pass for my twin brother."

"I can hardly tell one from the other, myself," said Nat.

"Never mind; he bought me some candy," put in little Lulu, and this made all laugh.

"I am going to ask you to do something," said John Garwell, to Horace Mann. "I think you owe it to me to walk down town, so that your fellow citizens can see that there are really two of us."

"Yes, Horace," pleaded his wife. "I made a lot of trouble for Mr. Garwell."

Horace Mann agreed readily, and soon he and the real estate broker and Nat left the residence. On the main streets of Trenton many stopped to stare after them. Among the number was the man who had spoken to Mr. Garwell, and insisted that the real estate broker was Mr. Mann.

"I apologize," said the man, promptly. "But I reckon you'll admit the resemblance is simply wonderful."

"I do admit it," was the answer. "Still, that doesn't make me anybody but myself."

Horace Mann insisted upon taking John Garwell and Nat to dinner, and treated them to the best the restaurant afforded.

"After this I'm going to wear a badge, so my wife will know me," said the Trenton man. "And I'll never dare to come to New York, for fear of being taken for you."

CHAPTER XVIII

NAT MEETS HIS UNCLE

"Nat, if you wish to do me a favor, do not mention this affair to anybody in New York," said John Garwell, when the pair were on the train, bound for the metropolis.

"I won't say a word, sir."

"There was nothing wrong about it, but I don't want my friends to make a laughing stock of me," added the bachelor.

"I shall never mention it to anybody," returned our hero, and it may be added here that he never did. The matter was also hushed up in Trenton, so nothing more was heard of it.

Our hero was kept very busy for a day or two after his trip into New Jersey. Part of his time was spent over some books, and the balance was used up in running errands, and delivering important papers and documents.

Once again he visited police headquarters, to learn if anything had been heard of Nick Smithers.

"We have learned that he visited Jersey City not long ago," said an official. "But before we could get the authorities to lay their hands on him, he disappeared. We rather think he is in New York again, and if so, we shall do all we can to round him up."

On the following day Nat was sent on an errand up to Forty-second Street. He had to deliver some real estate documents, and this done, he stopped for a moment to look at the Grand Central Depot.

"Thank fortune, I am not quite so green as I was when I landed," he mused.

He was just leaving the vicinity of the station, when, chancing to look down a side street, he saw a sight that filled him with astonishment.

"Uncle Abner, and the Widow Guff!" he murmured. "What are they doing, talking to that seedy-looking fellow?"

Our hero was right. There, near the entrance to a big building, stood Abner Balberry and his bride, and a sharp-eyed but shabbily dressed stranger was talking to them very earnestly.

"Uncle Abner must have married the widow," thought Nat. "More than likely they are on their wedding tour. Wonder what that other fellow wants of uncle?"

Nat's first inclination was to leave the spot, so that his relative might not discover him. But he did not like the looks of the stranger, and so drew closer, to learn, if possible, what the interview meant.

The man had just come past Abner and his wife, and had pretended to pick up a pocketbook.

"Say, did you drop your pocketbook?" he asked, of Abner.

"I—I guess not!" stammered the farmer, and felt to make certain that his own wallet was safe.

"Queer, who did drop this," went on the stranger. "Pretty well filled, too," he added, opening the pocketbook and looking into it.

"Did you jest pick it up?" queried Abner, falling into the trap.

"Sure, right down there. Say, this is a find, ain't it?" and the man smiled broadly.

"That's what it is," said the farmer.

"I wish I could find a pocketbook," sighed Mrs. Balberry.

"I'd like to return this to the owner," went on the stranger. "I don't want to keep anybody's money."

"'Tain't everybody would say thet," was Abner's comment. He wished he had made the find.

"I suppose not, but I believe in being honest." The stranger scratched his head. "Hang me, if I know what to do," he continued.

"What do you mean?"

"I've got to go out of town soon—train leaves in ten minutes. I don't want to take this with me. It don't seem just right."

"I see."

"Can't you find the owner—I'm sure he would pay us a reward."

"Me find the owner?" stammered the farmer.

"Yes. You might advertise. The pocketbook has got at least a hundred dollars in it. The owner ought to give you twenty-five for returning it."

"Maybe he would."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said the stranger, earnestly. "You take the pocketbook, and give me ten dollars. If you can find the owner, you can claim twenty-five dollars reward."

"An' supposin' I can't find the owner?"

"Then you can keep the pocketbook."

The temptation was strong, and Abner looked at his newly-made wife.

"Might as well take it, Abner," she said, promptly. "I guess we can find the owner quick enough," and she pinched his arm suggestively.

The farmer drew forth his wallet, and began to count out ten dollars. At the same time the stranger gazed again into the other wallet.

"Must be about a hundred and fifty dollars in this," he said. "I'll trust you to do the square thing by the owner."

"Oh, you kin trust me," said Abner, quickly.

He was about to pass over his ten dollars, when he felt somebody catch him by the arm, and turning, he beheld Nat.

"Nat!" he gasped.

"Not so fast, Uncle Abner!" cried our hero. "You had better keep your money."

"Wh—what?"

"Put your money away."

"See here, what do you mean by interfering?" said the stranger, roughly.

"If he gives up the pocketbook take the ten dollars out of that," went on Nat. "My idea is, there isn't a dollar in the pocketbook."

"Nat!"

"That's right, uncle. This is an old game. I heard all about it only a few days ago."

"Oh, you go to grass!" cried the stranger, with a malicious look at Nat, and then he hurried away with all speed.

"Where did you spring from, Nat?"

"I was in this neighborhood on an errand, Uncle Abner. How do you do, Mrs. Guff."

"I'm not Mrs. Guff any more," said the lady. "I'm Mrs. Balberry, your new aunt."

"Oh, so you're married, Uncle Abner."

"Yes," was the answer. "But see here, Nat, I don't understand about thet pocketbook," said the farmer.

"It's simple enough. As I said before, the game is an old one. That fellow had the pocketbook all the time. It was stuffed with old paper, with a dollar bill wrapped on the outside. He wanted to get your money, and if he had gotten it he would have left you with a pocketbook worth about a quarter, with nothing but old paper and a dollar bill in it, and maybe he would have taken the dollar bill out, too."

"Well, I never!" cried Mrs. Balberry. "Did you ever hear of such a swindle!"

"They play all sorts of games in a big city like this. You've got to keep your eyes open."

"I know it," groaned Abner Balberry. "Yesterday, a cabman cheated me out o' fifty cents, an' a boy got a quarter from me by a bogus telegram. I thought something had happened to hum, and when I opened the telegram it had nuthin but a sheet o' blank paper inside!"

"That was too bad."

There was an awkward pause. Now that the farmer had found Nat he hardly knew what to say. He had expected to upbraid his nephew for running away, but the pocketbook episode rather flustered him.

"So you come to New York, didn't you?" he said, slowly.

"Yes."

"Are you working?"

"Yes, and I've got a pretty good job, too."

"What at?"

"I'm in an office downtown."

"How much do you git?"

"What do you think, Uncle Abner?"

"About two or three dollars a week."

"I get seven dollars a week."

"Seven dollars a week—fer a boy!"

"You have been very lucky," put in Mrs. Balberry. "I wish Fred could strike a job like that."

"I'm to have a raise later on," added Nat.

"It wasn't right fer you to run away, Nat," continued his uncle.

"There are two ways of looking at it."

"An' you had no right to set fire to the barn."

"I never did that, Uncle Abner. I wouldn't be so mean."

"And you sold thet cow."

"She was my cow."

"No, she wasn't!"

"I say she was, and I can prove it!"

"Well, we won't quarrel about the cow. What I want to know is, are you behavin' yourself here in the city?"

"I am. I work every day, and I board with some very nice people."

"Ain't squanderin' your earnin's on theaters an' sech?"

"No, I have never seen the inside of a theater."

"Maybe you ain't seen the inside of a church either," came from Mrs. Balberry.

"Yes, I go to church every Sunday."

"Then you don't want to go back to the farm?" came from Abner Balberry.

"No, I am never going back there."

"Don't you know that I am your guardeen?"

"That may be so, Uncle Abner, but I am not going back to the farm."

"You'll go if I say so!"

"No, I won't!" and Nat's eyes flashed fire. "I'm going to support myself, and all I ask is to be let alone."

"Oh, leave him stay, Abner," broke in Mrs. Balberry. "You don't want him, now you have Fred."

The farmer was on the point of saying that Nat as a worker was worth two Freds, but he thought it best to keep silent on that point.

"I'd like to make certain you are stopping with decent folks," said he, after another pause.

"And you won't bother me if I can prove that?" cried our hero, eagerly.

"I guess so, Nat. But you mustn't come down on me fer board an' clothes, later on."

"I won't."

The matter was talked over for a few minutes longer, and in the end Nat led the way to his boarding house and introduced his uncle and Mrs. Balberry to Mrs. Talcott. The surroundings rather pleased Abner Balberry, and he ended by arranging to stay with Mrs. Talcott for several days.

"It's better'n them hotels," said the farmer. "It's more like hum, ain't it, Lucy?"

"Yes, but it ain't quite so high-toned," said the bride, who was inclined to cut a dash whenever the opportunity afforded.

CHAPTER XIX

NAT BECOMES A PRIVATE CLERK

Abner Balberry and his bride remained in New York four days longer, and during that time Nat did all in his power to make their visit a pleasant one. He received Mr. Garwell's permission to remain away from work one day, and took his uncle and aunt to Central Park, and to the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty. They were greatly pleased, and were frank enough to tell Nat so.

"I guess you are more cut out for the city than for the farm," said Abner to his nephew. "I hope you do well. You must write to us often, an' some day you must pay us a visit."

"I certainly will do that, Uncle Abner," said Nat, and then, to please the bride, he purchased for her a souvenir book, containing many illustrations of the metropolis. This book Mrs. Balberry prized highly, and from that moment she began to like Nat.

"He ain't half so bad as I was led to expect," she said, on the way home. "He seems to know what he is doing."

"He certainly is gettin' along," responded Abner. "Shouldn't wonder but what he'll be a regular business man some day."

"Do you think it would pay to send Fred down to the city?"

"No, he better stay on the farm. Fred ain't got the way about him thet Nat's got."

"He's just as smart," said the youth's mother, quickly.

"Maybe, but he ain't got the knack o' it."

"He would do just as well if he had the chance," continued Mrs. Balberry. As was perhaps natural she thought her own son as good as any boy.

On the day after Nat's uncle left New York John Garwell called the boy into his private office.

"Did you arrange matters with Mr. Balberry?" he asked, pleasantly.

"Yes, sir. He is going to leave me alone after this," and our hero smiled.

"I am glad to hear it, Nat. Then there is nothing in the way of your continuing here."

"No, sir."

"In that case I want to ask you a question. How would you like to take up stenography and typewriting?"

"I'd like it first-rate, if I thought I could do anything with them after I had learned them."

"I would like to have a private secretary who understood stenography, and the use of the typewriter."

"Oh, Mr. Garwell, do you think I would do?"

"Perhaps. You are bright, and I feel that I can trust you."

"If you want me to, I'll go at stenography and typewriting at once."

"You'll have to have some time for it."

"I can go at night. There are several evening schools I know of."

"Very well, then, you may start in at once, and I will pay your tuition fees."

"I can pay those out of my savings."

"No, bring the bills to me, Nat. And after this week your duties will be wholly as my private clerk," added John Garwell.

This made quite a change for our hero. But it was an agreeable one, and he went at his new duties with vigor. A good school was selected, which Nat attended five nights in the week.

"This kind of knocks me out," said Dick, when our hero told him of the change.

"No, it don't," said Nat, quickly. "I've made arrangements for you, Dick."

"Me? How?"

"You are to come three nights a week, for lessons in arithmetic and penmanship."

"Do they give the lessons free?"

"No, I am going to settle that."

"How much will you pay?"

"Three dollars a month."

"I ought to pay that."

"No, I am going to do it," said Nat, firmly, and he kept his word.

As John Garwell's private clerk, Nat received ten dollars per week, and as he had no school bills to pay for himself he found it easy to pay for Dick. The newsboy was making rapid progress, and this not only pleased his mother, but also the man who had promised to give Dick a position in his stationery store.

"I'm going to have a job in the store next month," said the newsboy one day. "Mr. Andrews' clerk is going to leave, and I am to take his place."

"And how much will Mr. Andrews give you?" asked Mrs. Talcott.

"Six dollars a week to start on, and he says he will give me eight dollars as soon as I can help on the books."

"I am glad to hear it, Dick."

"I guess I've got Nat to thank for the job," said the newsboy. "I had to do some writing for Mr. Andrews, and he said the writing was all right."

"Yes, you can certainly thank Nat," said Mrs. Talcott.

The days passed swiftly for Nat. He made good progress at the evening school, and Mr. Garwell was correspondingly pleased. Every day the real estate broker trusted Nat more and more, until the lad occupied a truly responsible position.

One day Nat was sent to Brooklyn, to have a certain document signed by a lady of wealth.

"You must get Mrs. Parloe's signature to this, Nat," said his employer, "and get somebody to witness the signature, and sign here," he added.

"Yes, sir."

"The paper is valuable, and I don't want you to let it go out of your sight," went on John Garwell.

"I'll take care to keep my eye on it," answered Nat.

He was soon on his way, and after crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, took a street car to the address given him. It was a fine brownstone house, with elegant lace curtains at the windows.

"Does Mrs. Parloe live here?" he asked of the girl who came to the door.

"Yes, sir."

"I would like to see her on business," and Nat handed out a card on which was printed:

John Wilbur Garwell,

Real Estate Broker.

Represented by

NATHANIEL M. NASON.

The girl told Nat to take a seat, and went off with the card. He waited for fully five minutes, during which he heard a low murmur of voices in a back room. Then a tall, dark-eyed man came forward.

"What do you wish of Mrs. Parloe?" he questioned, abruptly.

"Excuse me, but my business is with the lady," answered Nat, politely. He had been told to transact business with Mrs. Parloe and with nobody else.

"Oh! I suppose you came about that property," went on the dark-eyed man, surlily. "If you did, let me tell you, it won't do any good."

To this our hero made no reply.

"Mrs. Parloe will see you upstairs," said the girl, returning, and showed Nat the way up. The dark-eyed man started to follow, but the girl called him back.

"Mrs. Parloe wished you to remain below, Mr. Cameron," she said.

At this the man uttered something under his breath which Nat could not catch. Evidently, he was very angry, and he went into a side room, slamming the door after him.

Nat found Mrs. Parloe sitting in an easy chair by a front window. She was something of an invalid and rather old.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Nason," said she. "Take a seat."

"Thank you," returned Nat. "Here is a note for you from Mr. Garwell," and he passed it over.

The old lady read the communication carefully, nodding to herself as she did so. Then she turned again to our hero.

"Have you the document with you?"

"Yes, ma'am," and Nat brought it forth. "You will have to have somebody as a witness. Can I call somebody for you?"

The old lady mused for a moment.

"I don't believe Rufus will do it," she said, half aloud.

"Do you mean the gentleman I met downstairs?"

"Yes, my nephew, Rufus Cameron. He does not wish me to transact business with Mr. Garwell. You may call John, my hired man. He is quite intelligent."

"Where will I find him?"

"You will—but never mind, Mary can call him."

Mrs. Parloe touched a bell, and soon Mary appeared, and went off to find the hired man. In the meantime, Nat fixed a reading stand so it could be used as a writing table, and brought out a stylographic pen his employer had given him.

Soon the hired man appeared. He was fairly well educated, and showed it in his face and manner.

"I am going to sign this document, John," said the old lady. "I wish you to witness my signature."

"Yes, ma'am."

Not without something of an effort, Mrs. Parloe affixed her signature to the paper. Then Nat handed the document to John, and told him where to place his own name in full, and also his address. In a minute the matter was concluded, and Mrs. Parloe told the hired man to go, and he did so.

"I trust Mr. Garwell has no further difficulty in this matter," said the old lady, as Nat stowed the document away in his pocket.

"He told me to say that he is going to put it through just as soon as he can," answered Nat. "I don't know anything more about it than that."

"Are you one of his clerks?"

"Yes, ma'am—his private clerk."

"You are rather young for such a position."

"I suppose I am, but Mr. Garwell seems to like me, and I am doing what I can to please him."

"Mr. Garwell is a good man," said the old lady, and there the interview came to an end, and Nat left the room. He was just going to leave the house when the dark-eyed man stepped into the lower hallway, and caught him by the arm.

CHAPTER XX

RUFUS CAMERON'S BOLD MOVE

"What do you want?" demanded our hero. He did not like the idea of being detained, now that his business was concluded.

"I want to talk to you a minute," said the man. "Come into the parlor."

"I am in something of a hurry, Mr.–"

"My name is Rufus Cameron. Mrs. Parloe is my aunt. I must talk to you. Come in."

Rufus Cameron caught a firm hold of our hero and almost forced him into the parlor. Then he shut the door tightly and stood in front of it.

"What do you want?" demanded Nat. He did not like the looks of Rufus Cameron. The fellow's face was dissipated.

"You got my aunt to sign a certain document, didn't you?"

"What if I did?"

"I want to see that paper."

"If you do, you'll have to see my employer about it."

"You've got the paper right here. Why can't you show it to me?"

"Because I have no authority for so doing," answered our hero, firmly.

"Humph! It won't hurt you to let me look over the paper," growled Rufus Cameron.

"I have my orders."

"Did John Garwell tell you not to show me the paper?"

"He told me to have it signed, and to bring it right back."

"Well, I want to see it, and I'm going to do it before you leave this house."

"Are you going to take the paper away from me!" cried Nat, in alarm.

"I only want to look at it. As soon as I've read it, I'll give it back to you."

"I can't allow the paper to go out of my possession, Mr. Cameron."

"Mrs. Parloe isn't entirely responsible for what she does. I must see to it that everything is all right."

"Well, you had better call on Mr. Garwell."

"No, I must see the document while you have it here. Come! hand it over."

"I will not."

Nat had scarcely spoken when Rufus Cameron caught him roughly by the shoulder.

"Look here, boy, I am not a man to be trifled with!" he whispered, fiercely. "Let me see the paper, and it will be all right. But if you won't, I'll make a whole lot of trouble for you."

"Let go of me!" and Nat tried to pull himself away.

"You stole this ring while you were upstairs," said Rufus Cameron, quickly, and, putting his hand in Nat's side pocket, he brought it out again with a diamond ring.

"I—I never saw that ring before," gasped Nat.

"You stole it, I say, and unless you behave yourself, I'll have you arrested," went on Rufus Cameron, coldly.

Nat was dumfounded, but like a flash he saw through the trick that the man wanted to play on him.

"You can't fool me, Mr. Rufus Cameron," said he, sharply. "Let me go, or I'll have you hauled up in court for this. Your dirty trick won't work with me."

Rufus Cameron fell back, crestfallen. He had not anticipated such bravery on our hero's part. He was a coward at heart, and too much liquor had somewhat muddled his brain.

"Then you won't show me the document?" he muttered.

"No."

As Nat uttered the word, Rufus Cameron picked up a sea shell lying on a mantelshelf, and swung it behind his head.

"If you don't let me see that–" he began.

Nat rushed at him, and pushed him to one side. Then our hero made for the door. He was just opening it when the seashell was sent whizzing forward. It hit Nat on the head, and the boy dropped unconscious across an easy chair.

For the instant Rufus Cameron was startled. Then rushing to the door, he locked it, and also locked some folding doors leading to a rear apartment.

"I hope I didn't hurt him much," he muttered. "What a young fool he was not to let me see the paper."

He propped Nat up in the easy chair, and placed his hand in the boy's inside pocket. Soon he had the document in his possession, and was looking over it rapidly.

"Just as I thought. I'm glad I got it. Now, we'll see if Shanley and I can't outwit Mr. John Garwell."

Nat was already coming to his senses, and Rufus Cameron lost no time in hurrying to the library of the house. Here he obtained an old document of no consequence, but which still bore his aunt's signature. Rushing back, he placed this in the envelope which had held the other paper of importance.

Nat was just returning to his senses when he found himself being taken out of the house by Rufus Cameron. The man supported him as far as the corner and there placed him on a stone step leading to a church.

"Wha—what did you hit me for?" stammered our hero, feebly.

"I didn't mean to do that; really I didn't," said Rufus Cameron, smoothly. "The shell slipped. I am very sorry—very sorry, indeed."

"It was a mean thing to do."

"It was an accident, I give you my word on it."

Nat felt in his pocket to learn if the document was still there.

"Did you look at that paper?" he questioned.

"No, I didn't. On second thought I have concluded to let my aunt do just as she pleases in this matter."