Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 1

d.i.c.k Hamilton's Fortune.

by Howard R. Garis.

PREFACE

My Dear Boys:

Allow me to introduce to you my friend, d.i.c.k Hamilton.

d.i.c.k, here are the boys, thousands of them.

Boys, here is d.i.c.k Hamilton.

Now I hope you will shake hands and become good friends; not doing as I have sometimes seen boys do, when introduced, hang back and size each other up, as if distrusting each other.

Go right up to d.i.c.k, get a good grip on his hand, and squeeze for all you're worth. I'll wager you can't make him cry "enough!"

I know he will like you, boys, and I hope you'll like d.i.c.k. He's a fine fellow, if I do say it myself, for I'm a sort of relation to him. He's got lots of money, but he uses it in the right way, to help his friends, and it doesn't keep him from getting into trouble.

I have endeavored to give you a story of d.i.c.k and his fortune; how he tried to fulfil the strange condition of his mother's will; how he escaped the toils of the sharper, was the target for many cranks, as well as well-meaning persons; how he aided the "fresh-air kids," and, finally, when the gold mines had failed, how he worked hard to escape the clutches of his uncle Ezra.

As you have taken kindly to some of the other books I have been privileged to write for you, I hope you will like this one; and now, if you have read thus far, you may turn the pages and find out what d.i.c.k had to do in order to retain his millions.

Yours sincerely,

Howard R. Garis.

d.i.c.k HAMILTON'S FORTUNE

CHAPTER I

d.i.c.k IS IN A HURRY

"Here comes d.i.c.k Hamilton!" exclaimed a flas.h.i.+ly-dressed youth to his companion, no less gaily attired, as the two stood in front of a building from which sounded a peculiar clicking noise.

"So it is, Guy," was the answer. "Let's get him into a game. Maybe I can win a little money. I need it, for I'm nearly dead broke."

"I thought you always had all the cash you wanted, Simon," remarked Guy Fletcher, with something like a sneer in his voice. "I know I loaned you some the other day."

"Do you think that lasted until now?" inquired Simon Scardale, glancing down at his patent leather shoes. "I'm short of ready money now, and if we can get your friend Hamilton into a game of billiards I think I can beat him."

"He's no friend of mine," returned Guy, with a short laugh. "He isn't my kind, even if his father is a millionaire."

"That's the main reason why you ought to cultivate his acquaintance,"

returned Simon. "It pays to keep in with such fellows. But here he is.

Let me do the talking. You needn't play if you don't want to."

The two boys, who in spite of their fine clothes, did not have an air of good breeding, watched the approach of d.i.c.k Hamilton as he sauntered down the main street of the town that pleasant afternoon late in June.

d.i.c.k was a boy a little above the average height, well built, with curling brown hair and eyes of the same hue. The eyes were bright and clear, and, when he looked at you they seemed to glint like moss agates, as some of his friends used to say.

"And you ought to see them when he's excited," one of d.i.c.k's acquaintances once remarked. "His eyes sparkle and seem to look right through you."

It needed but a glance to see that d.i.c.k was well dressed, with that careless air of studied negligence which so marks the person accustomed to fine raiment. d.i.c.k wore his garments as if he was "used to them and not dressed up," as Fred Murdock remarked. There was that about him which at once proclaimed him for what he was--the son of a very wealthy man, for his father, Mortimer Hamilton, counted his fortune in the millions.

As d.i.c.k came opposite the place whence issued that peculiar sound, produced by ivory b.a.l.l.s. .h.i.tting against one another, he was hailed by Simon Scardale.

"I say, d.i.c.k, come in and have a little game of billiards?"

d.i.c.k paused and looked at the speaker with a quizzical glance.

"Who's going to play?" he asked.

"Why--er--I--am--for one," replied Simon. "And maybe Guy, here, will take a cue. I'll bet I can beat you, and I'll give you twenty-five points to start with. I'll bet you ten dollars----"

"No, thanks," answered d.i.c.k, in rather languid tones, but the sparkle in his brown eyes showed there was more spirit in the words than at first might be apparent. "I don't believe I care to play."

"Afraid I'll beat you!" exclaimed Simon, with a sneer.

"You were very far from doing that the last time you played at my house," retorted d.i.c.k, quickly.

"Oh, well, that--er--that was on a table you were used to, and----"

"He's worried about losing the money!" interrupted Guy Fletcher. "Come on, Simon, I'll play you. I'm not afraid of ten dollars, even if my father isn't quite as wealthy as his."

As a matter of fact Guy's father was very far from being as well off as Mr. Hamilton, but Guy took upon himself as much importance, and gave himself as many airs, as though his parent was a multi-millionaire.

"Hold on!" exclaimed d.i.c.k sharply, straightening up and thrusting his hands in the pockets of his well-fitting coat. "Now don't you fellows get any wrong notions into your heads. Go a little slow. You asked me to come into a public billiard-room and play a game with you. I----"

"Yes, and you refused because you're afraid!" retorted Guy.

"That's where you're wrong," replied d.i.c.k coolly. "I refused because, in the first place, I don't play billiards in a public resort like this. I like the game, but I have a fine table at home, and I see no reason why I should waste my time hanging around in a place that's thick with tobacco smoke, and where the language isn't the most polite, not to put it too strong. Besides, the tables are in such poor condition that----"

"Oh, so you've turned Miss Nancy!" exclaimed Simon, with a mean smirk.

"If you think so just come up to my gymnasium and put on the boxing gloves with me," invited d.i.c.k with a meaning smile; but Simon knew better than to accept. He had once boxed a friendly round with d.i.c.k and had been sore for a week afterward, for Simon was "soft."

"Another reason," continued d.i.c.k, "is that I never gamble, whether it's over a game of billiards or something else. I don't believe it's right.

It isn't a question of money at all. In fact, if you need a little cash, I don't mind lending it to you. But I'll not gamble for it.

"However," went on the wealthy youth, "don't let me stand in the way of you two having a good time. 'Every one to their notion,' as the old lady said when she kissed the cow," and d.i.c.k laughed.