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From Farm to Fortune; or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 22. At The Elevated Station |
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_ 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. _ |
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