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

Nat felt in no condition to argue. He took out the document, glanced at it, and shoved it back into the envelope and then in his pocket.

"I'm sorry this happened. I was excited for the minute. Come and have a drink with me. It will do you good," went on Rufus Cameron.

"I don't drink."

"Shall I show you to the car then?"

"Yes."

When Nat got up the rascal supported him, and thus they made their way to the car line running to the Bridge. Here, our hero boarded a car, and Rufus Cameron watched him ride out of sight.

"That was easy after all," muttered Rufus Cameron to himself. "I only hope it don't make too much trouble in the future. I'll have to let Shanley have this document without delay, and I'd better get out of sight until the affair blows over."

Making his way to a neighboring café, Rufus Cameron treated himself to a drink of strong liquor and a black-looking cigar. Then he returned to his aunt's home. He lived with her, and was doing his best to get certain of her properties away from her.

"Aunt Jane, what did that young man want?" he asked, as he entered her room.

"He came to see me on private business, Rufus," was the quiet answer. Mrs. Parloe did not fancy her nephew's habits, and had often warned him that he must reform.

"Was there anything I could do for you?"

"No, Rufus."

"Do you know, Aunt Jane, I've been thinking of taking a trip to the West," he went on, after a pause.

"So you said before."

"I'd go in a minute if I had the money."

"How much do you want?"

"Two or three hundred dollars at least."

"Is the money gone that I let you have last month?"

"Yes, I had to pay some back bills with that."

"You are very extravagant, Rufus."

"Oh, a young man must spend something."

"But not as much as you spend."

"I don't spend any more than the rest of the fellows in my set. I have got to keep up appearances, you know."

"Your set is altogether too fast a one to suit me."

"Will you let me have the money?"

"How long do you expect to be gone?"

"That depends upon what you will give me. If you'll let me have five hundred dollars, I'll make a trip of two or three months."

Mrs. Parloe thought for a moment, and at last consented to give her nephew the five hundred. She had her check book handy, and soon the check was passed over to the nephew.

"When shall you start?" she asked.

"I don't know. I've a good notion to start to-night. But if you want me to do anything for you before I go–"

"There is nothing, Rufus. Only, if you want to please me, don't get into any bad habits while you are gone."

"Oh, I'm going to turn over a new leaf when I leave Brooklyn," said the hypocrite. "Then, I can leave to-night?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I'll pack my trunk at once," said Rufus Cameron; and a little later he did so. Then he had the trunk taken away, bid his aunt good-by, and was off.

"That was easy," he said to himself, when away from the house. "Now to see Shanley and to arrange for keeping out of sight, in case John Garwell kicks up a fuss."

CHAPTER XXI

A MISSING DOCUMENT OF VALUE

As soon as Nat returned to the office he sought out Mr. Garwell, and handed him the document in the envelope.

"Did you have any trouble getting Mrs. Parloe's signature?" asked the real estate broker.

"I had no trouble getting the signature, but I had trouble getting away from the house," answered Nat.

"Trouble getting away? What do you mean?"

"I was stopped by her nephew, a man named Rufus Cameron. He handled me rather roughly."

"Did he try to get the document away from you?" And now John Garwell was all attention.

"He hauled me in the parlor, and demanded that I let him look at the paper. I refused, and then he threatened me."

"And what happened after that?"

"He put his hand in my pocket and brought out a diamond ring. He said I had stolen it."

"Of course you hadn't, Nat?"

"I had never seen the ring before. But that wasn't the worst of it. He picked up a sea shell and hit me with it and knocked me senseless."

After that our hero told his story in detail, relating also what Rufus Cameron had said on assisting him to the street car. The real estate broker listened with keen interest.

"That man is a scoundrel!" he exclaimed, when Nat had concluded his story. "I pity Mrs. Parloe. He is doing his best to get all her money from her."

"It was a mean trick to say I took the ring," declared Nat.

"He did that thinking to get you in his power, my boy. Are you sure he didn't look at the document?"

"I can't say what he did while I was senseless, Mr. Garwell."

"I'll take a look at the paper and see if he made any alterations in the text."

John Garwell looked at the document and began to read it.

"Why, this is not the paper I gave you, Nat," he ejaculated.

"Not the same?"

"No. It's some old thing that I know nothing about."

"If that's the case, Mr. Cameron substituted this paper for the real one!" exclaimed our hero. "He could easily have done that during the time I was knocked out."

"I'll see about this without delay," said John Garwell, decisively. "I will show that fellow that he can't carry matters with quite such a high hand."

"What can he do with that paper, Mr. Garwell?"

"He can cause me a great deal of trouble. The paper refers to a piece of property in which Mrs. Parloe held an interest. I have been trying to get a free and clear title to the land for a client of mine, and another real estate dealer named Andrew Shanley has been trying to get the land for another party. It is a mixed-up affair, but I hoped the signing of that paper would help to straighten out matters."

The real estate broker was as good as his word, but he was exceedingly busy, and it was not until two in the afternoon that he could get away. Then he went to Brooklyn, taking Nat with him.

"I would like to see Mr. Cameron," said he to the girl at Mrs. Parloe's home.

"Mr. Cameron has gone away, sir," was the unexpected answer.

"Do you know when he will be back?"

"I'll ask Mrs. Parloe," said the girl.

She went upstairs, leaving them in the parlor below. Soon she came back.

"He has gone out west, Mrs. Parloe says, and she doesn't expect him back for two or three months."

"Gone west," cried Nat. "When did he go?"

"He went away about noon."

"Did he take any baggage?" asked John Garwell.

"Yes, sir, a dress-suit case, and he sent an expressman around for his trunk, too."

"Then I won't bother you any more," said the real estate broker, and left the house, followed by Nat.

"Don't you want to ask Mrs. Parloe about this?" queried our hero.

"It would be useless to do so, Nat. It would only upset the old lady."

"She might be able to tell us just where her nephew had gone to?"

"It is not likely. He intends to keep out of the way, that is certain."

"Maybe he didn't go west at all!" said our hero, suddenly.

"Such a thing is possible."

"Did you say he was in league with this other real estate broker?"

"I don't know about that, although I know he and this Shanley are friends."

"I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea for me to watch around this Shanley's office for him?"

"Ha! That is an idea." John Garwell smiled broadly. "Nat, you are growing clever."

"Even if I couldn't get the paper, I could prove that he had not gone west, as he told his aunt, and I could follow him, and find out where he was stopping."

"Well, you can do the watching if you wish. I will give you Andrew V. Shanley's address. His place of business is between here and the Bridge."

"Shall I go there at once?"

"If you wish."

The address was written on a slip of paper, and a little later Nat and his employer separated. John Garwell gazed after our hero curiously.

"He is improving wonderfully," he mused. "He isn't half as green as when I first met him."

Nat had been told what car to take, and ten minutes sufficed to bring him to the block upon which Andrew Shanley's office was located, on the third floor of a large 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 Caswell and Brookville?"

"You've struck it, but—but—what's this to you, anyway?" and now Tom Nolan began to look disturbed.

"It's a good deal to me. That was my uncle's barn, and I was accused of setting it on fire."

"Gee shoo! Yer don't say! Say, I've put my foot into it, ain't I?"

"You certainly have."

"But, say, honest, I—I didn't mean to set the shebang afire—not on my life, I didn't."

"You were smoking, and fell asleep."

"Thet's the honest truth o' the matter, my young friend. I'm a tramp, an' down on my luck, but I ain't no barn burner, not me!"

"Well, you had better come with me," said Nat, decidedly.

"What are yer goin' to do?"

"I want a witness to what you just said."

"Goin' to have me—me locked up?"

"No, it's not worth it. I only want to prove to my uncle that I am not guilty, that's all."

The tramp followed Nat down into the street and then over to John Garwell's office.

"Why, what does this mean, Nat?" demanded his employer, in astonishment, for visits from tramps were unusual.

Our hero lost no time in telling his story.

"I want my uncle Abner to know that I am innocent, that's all," he continued. "It won't do any good to hold this chap, for the barn wasn't hurt much, anyway."

"I'll settle this," said Mr. Garwell, and called in a stenographer, who took down what the tramp had to say. Then the confession was typewritten, and Tom Nolan signed it, and John Garwell added his signature as a witness.

"There, Nat, that is all right now," said the real estate broker. "You can send that to your uncle when you please, and we can keep a copy."

"This is all I want," said our hero to the tramp. "You may go now."

"Don't want no more o' me?" asked Tom Nolan.

"Nothing whatever."

"Say, ain't this confession good fer a quarter?"

"I'll give you a quarter if you'll promise not to spend it for drink."

"I'll promise," said the tramp, and Nat handed him twenty-five cents. Tom Nolan thanked him, and shuffled off; and that was the last our hero saw or heard of him.

"I'm sorry I lost so much time," said Nat to his employer. "But I wanted to square myself with Uncle Abner if I could."

"I don't blame you, Nat. I have no doubt it is a great worry off your mind."

"It is. Now, Uncle Abner will know I told him the plain truth."

That night Nat wrote Abner Balberry a long letter, telling of his meeting with the tramp. He enclosed the signed confession, and he had the letter registered, so that it might not get lost in the mails. A few days later came a reply, in which Nat's uncle said he remembered seeing the tramp around on the day of the fire, and stating that he was very sorry that he had ever thought his nephew guilty.

Nat's work frequently took him out of town, and on one occasion he had to go to Albany, a trip which he enjoyed thoroughly, as it gave him a chance to visit the State Capitol.

"Nat," said John Garwell one day, "didn't you once tell me, that your father and grandfather had come from New York and Brooklyn?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was your grandfather ever interested in some property around Central Park?"

"I don't know but what he was. But he got rid of his belongings, so I was told, when he moved away."

"Did you ever see any of the papers?"

"Yes, sir, some years ago. They were in a trunk up in my uncle Abner's garret."

"What was your grandfather's full name?"

"Chester Stout Nason. His mother was a Stout."

"And your father's full name?"

"William Henry Nason."

"Did he have any brothers?"

"No, sir—only a sister, who was Uncle Abner's first wife."

"I see. Are those papers still in the trunk you just mentioned?"

"They ought to be. They were packed away with some old account books—bad debts, I once heard father call them. Father had an idea he could collect some of the debts some day. But I guess they are outlawed."