Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online

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[Illustration: "HERE GRIT, OLD FELLOW, GIVE IT TO ME! THAT'S A GOOD
DOG!"

_Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht._      _Frontispiece_--(_Page 201._)]

DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT
OR
A YOUNG MILLIONAIRE AND THE KIDNAPPERS

BY
HOWARD R. GARIS

AUTHOR OF "DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE," "DICK HAMILTON'S
CADET DAYS," "FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER," "LARRY
DEXTER, REPORTER," "LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH," ETC.

_ILLUSTRATED_

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

BOOKS FOR BOYS

BY HOWARD R. GARIS

THE DICK HAMILTON SERIES

     DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE Or The Stirring Doings of a Millionaire's
     Son.

     DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS Or The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son

     DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT Or A Young Millionaire and the
     Kidnappers

     DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM Or A Young Millionaire on the
     Gridiron

     (Other volumes in preparation)

     _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated._

THE YOUNG REPORTER SERIES

     FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER Or The First Step in Journalism

     LARRY DEXTER, THE YOUNG REPORTER Or Strange Adventures in a Great
     City

     LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH Or The Hunt for a Missing Millionaire

     LARRY DEXTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY Or A Young Reporter in Wall
     Street

     LARRY DEXTER AND THE STOLEN BOY Or A Young Reporter on the Lakes

     _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated._

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS      NEW YORK

Copyright, 1911, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP

_Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht_

PREFACE

MY DEAR BOYS:

Perhaps some of you, at one time or another, have had a desire to be
cast away on an island in the middle of the ocean, there to have all
sorts of adventures, to build a boat, and sail away, maybe; or, at any
rate, to have some experience on the great sea.

Something like this fell to the lot of Dick Hamilton, though he was not
exactly looking for it, and it is my privilege to give you in this, the
third volume of the "Dick Hamilton Series," an account of what happened
to the young millionaire when he had purchased a steam yacht, and
started out on a cruise with some of his friends.

Dick was marooned on a small island, but, far from that proving a
delightful experience, he was very glad to leave, even though it was on
a raft, which he and his companions constructed.

How the wealthy youth happened to be marooned there, an account of how
he got his yacht, how he foiled the plans of the kidnappers and his
uncle Ezra Larabee, how the wrong young man was spirited away, how Dick
gave chase, and the surprising rescue at sea--all this you will find set
down in the present book, and I venture to hope that you will like it.
Thanking you for the appreciation you have accorded my previous books, I
remain,

Yours sincerely,
HOWARD R. GARIS.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER                                      PAGE
      I DICK'S COMPANY WINS                     1

     II MR. HAMILTON'S LETTER                   8

    III DICK'S STEAM YACHT                     18

     IV UNCLE EZRA'S PLOT                      28

      V DICK IS SHADOWED                       45

     VI DICK ENTERS THE TRAP                   56

    VII THE ESCAPE                             65

   VIII THE FIGHT IN THE DARK                  74

     IX OUT TO SEA                             78

      X UNCLE EZRA'S OFFER                     90

     XI PLUM DUFF FALLS OVERBOARD              97

    XII SAVED FROM THE SEA                    105

   XIII THE MERMAID'S SONG                    112

    XIV JUST IN TIME                          119

     XV TIM MULDOON DISAPPEARS                127

    XVI UNCLE EZRA AS A SAILOR                136

   XVII WIDDY HEARS A VOICE                   143

  XVIII THE PRINCESS PASSES                   149

    XIX AT HAVANA                             157

     XX OFF TO SANTIAGO                       163

    XXI THE KIDNAPPERS                        171

   XXII THE WRONG CAPTIVE                     178

  XXIII DICK ON THE TRAIL                     186

   XXIV OFF FOR STONE ISLAND                  192

    XXV DICK'S YACHT IS GONE                  199

   XXVI MAROONED                              209

  XXVII DICK FINDS HIS RELATIVES              216

 XXVIII BUILDING A RAFT                       225

   XXIX THE RESCUE                            234

    XXX THE PURSUIT                           242

   XXXI "MAN OVERBOARD!"--CONCLUSION          249

DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT

CHAPTER I

DICK'S COMPANY WINS

"Halt!"

The command rang out sharply, and hundreds of cadets came to a stop,
standing as stiff as ramrods, with their eyes staring straight ahead
at--absolutely nothing.

"Right dress!"

Captain Dick Hamilton stepped out the regulation number of paces in
front of his company, wheeled on his heel, looked critically over his
command, wheeled about again, and stood at attention. Then he awaited
the approach of Colonel Masterly, superintendent of the Kentfield
Military Academy.

"Say, fellows, I hope we're looking all right," whispered Jim Perkins,
to his next in line, George Ball. "We want to take first prize, for
Dick's sake, and----"

"Silence in the ranks!" exclaimed First Lieutenant Paul Drew. "Here come
Colonel Masterly and Major Rockford."

Dick Hamilton never moved from his rigid position, but with a slight
motion of his hand he cautioned his men to maintain order. For it was
the final inspection, at the close of the academy for the term, and he
wanted his command to have a perfect score.

Farther along the big parade ground were other companies of cadets, in
their dress uniforms, and in front of them were other captains, as eager
as was Dick to win the coveted medal, which was offered each year for
the best appearing command.

"Here come the grand-high-muck-a-mucks!" whispered the irrepressible
Perkins. "Stand up straighter, Ball. You're as crooked as a rail fence."

"Silence!" hissed Lieutenant Drew sharply. Dick was almost ready to
squirm, in his eagerness to turn around and administer a rebuke, yet he
was inwardly laughing at the remark of Perkins. Colonel Masterly, the
head of the big school, and the commandant, Major Rockford, were now
inspecting the company, which was standing stiffly at the right of
Dick's command. The two officers, together with several visitors, and a
colonel from the regular army, were critically examining the ranks of
anxious cadets.

"I know I've got a speck of dust on my belt," whispered Perkins. "Can't
one of you fellows brush it off with your bayonet?" and he half turned
his head to look at the lad behind him.

"Si----!" began Lieutenant Drew, but he did not finish, for at that
moment the squad of officers approached, having finished with the other
company.

Dick stiffened the least bit more in his tracks, if such a thing were
possible, and raised his glittering sword in salute. The inspection was
on. There was no further chance to improve the appearance of his cadets.

Slowly and carefully the officers looked over the lads, some of whom
felt an uncontrollable desire to sneeze, or to scratch the middle of
their backs. But they nobly resisted.

Colonel Masterly spoke a few words in a low tone to Major Webster, a
retired army officer, who was the academy instructor in military
tactics. In turn the latter spoke to Major Rockford, and then to Colonel
Whitford, of the regular army. Dick wondered what they were saying, but
as they were behind him now he could not hear.

The officers paused in front of the joking Perkins. They seemed to see
something.

"Great Scott!" mused Captain Dick Hamilton. "Has Perk disgraced us by
putting his belt on wrong side out?" Yet he dared not turn to see. A
moment later the inspectors passed on, and Dick breathed easier. Then,
as Colonel Masterly and the others passed behind the rear rank of Dick's
cadets, finishing their examination, and moved on to the next company,
our hero breathed a sigh of relief, and somewhat relaxed his stiff
position.

"I feel as if I'd just been to the dentist's," whispered Perkins,
though not so quietly but what it carried to every lad in the company.

"Silence, Perk!" commanded Paul Drew, but he shook with inward laughter.

There were two more companies to inspect, and until they had been passed
on it would not be known which command had been awarded the prize.

But the delay was not for long, and presently the group of officers
returned, and stood in front of Dick's company. Colonel Masterly then
announced, in a few, well-chosen words, that the young millionaire's
cadets had won the prize, though, he added, that it had been difficult
to decide, where there was so much general excellence displayed.

"And so allow me, Captain Hamilton, on behalf of the faculty of the
Kentfield Military Academy, to present you and your company this medal,"
went on Colonel Masterly, and stepping forward he handed Dick a small
box, on the white satin lining of which glittered a shield of gold.

"Three cheers for Captain Hamilton and Company B!" called Captain Teddy
Naylor, of Company E.

And, though it might have been against strict military rule and practice
the applause was given with a will. Dick flushed with pleasure as he
saluted, and soon ranks were broken, and the inspection was over.

"Has any one seen Grit?" asked the successful captain, as he and some
chums were strolling over the parade ground, after they had left their
rifles in the armory racks.

"Here he comes now," remarked Paul Drew. "They had to keep him double
chained, I guess, or he'd have nipped the legs of the entire faculty in
case the medal hadn't gone to Company B."

"Hi, Grit, old boy!" cried Dick, and a handsome bulldog--that is,
handsome as bulldogs go--leaped upon the youth, and wagged his stump of
a tail so violently that it was a wonder it was not dislocated, while,
at every word from his master, the animal grew so demonstrative that
finally, in the excess of joy, he finally rolled over and over on the
grass, whoofing out the words he could not speak.

The throng of cadets separated, as the various members of the little
party started for their rooms, to get off the tight dress uniforms, and
don fatigue suits.

"I say, will you fellows come around to-night?" asked Dick.

"Sure! What for?" asked Paul.

"I'm going to have a little spread in honor of our fellows getting the
medal."

"What a thing it is to be a millionaire!" exclaimed Perkins with a mock
sigh.

"Oh, cut it out," advised Dick good-naturedly, for he disliked any
reference to his wealth, which, at times, was a handicap rather than a
help.

"Will Jimmie let you have the grub-fest?" asked Paul, using the cadets'
private title for their superintendent.

"Sure. He can't refuse very well, after we won the prize. You fellows
come around, and we'll have some fun," and, as there came a chorus of
eager assents, Dick Hamilton hurried to his room.

There, even before he rid himself of his uncomfortable uniform, he drew
from his pocket a letter which he began to read for perhaps the fifth
time. As he perused it a puzzled look came over his face.

"I can't understand why dad is so anxious for me to come home and do
some investigating for him," he mused. "I wonder what sort of
investigating it can be? Maybe he wants me to turn detective. Perhaps
some persons have been demanding money from him, and he wants to find
out who they are. Yet it can hardly be that, either. Let's see what he
says about it."

Then the young millionaire, who had been so taken up with trying for the
annual prize offered for the best appearing company, that he had not had
time to properly read a very important letter he had received from his
father that day, set himself to the task of trying to fathom what his
parent wanted him to do.

He had not read more than a dozen lines, when there sounded a knock on
his door, and, opening it he saw one of the janitors, Corporal Bill
Handlee, standing there.

"Well, what is it, Toots?" asked the lad, giving the old soldier the
name bestowed on him from the fact that he was always whistling military
airs.

"Colonel Masterly wishes to see you, Captain Hamilton."

"All right. Tell him I'll be with him at once."

Dick slipped the letter into his pocket, adjusted his uniform, and
hastened out.

"I wonder if I'll ever get time to read my letter without being
interrupted," he mused.

CHAPTER II

MR. HAMILTON'S LETTER

Colonel Masterly's summons to the young millionaire was to give him the
permission, asked for shortly after the parade, to have a spread in one
of the unused rooms of the academy, and once that he was assured that
everything was all right, Dick set to work to provide for the good time
he anticipated.

He hurried into town, and gave orders to a caterer for a "spread" such
as had seldom before been given at Kentfield. Then the lad had to
arrange for various details, improvising tables from boards and
saw-horses, seeing to the seating arrangements, sending out his verbal
invitations, in which Paul Drew helped him, for, as it was impossible to
have the entire student-body at the little dinner, Dick had to confine
it to his closest friends, and the members of his prize company.

That he had many friends, those of you who have read the previous
volumes of this series will testify, though at first, on coming to the
military academy, Dick's millions had been a handicap to him. The son
of Mortimer Hamilton, of Hamilton Corners, himself a millionaire many
times, Dick had inherited a large fortune from his mother, who had been
dead some years; but, as told in the first volume of this series,
entitled "Dick Hamilton's Fortune," he was not to have the use of this
money until he had complied with certain conditions of Mrs. Hamilton's
will.

One stipulation was that Dick must make a paying investment of some of
his funds within a year. If he did not do this he was to go and live
with a crabbed old uncle, named Ezra Larabee, of Dankville, and attend a
boarding school of that relative's selection.

Dick had a taste of what he might expect of his uncle, when he paid a
week's visit to Dankville, and he at once made up his mind that if hard
work would accomplish it, he would make that paying investment, for he
realized that he never could stand life with his uncle and aunt.

The young millionaire tried several schemes for making money, from
buying real estate to purchasing shares in a gold mine, but, one after
another, they all failed, and the lad was on the verge of having to go
and dwell in the gloomy Dankville house, called "The Firs."

How Dick fulfilled the conditions of the will, most unexpectedly, from a
small investment he made for a poor youth named Henry Darby, how Grit,
the bulldog, routed Uncle Ezra when he came to take his nephew back
home with him, is told in the first volume, as well as how Dick got the
best of some sharpers who tried to swindle him.

Secure in the possession of the great fortune his mother had left to
him, Dick began to enjoy life, and did much good with his money, while
he gave not a little pleasure to those not so well off as himself.

In the second volume, "Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days," our hero was obliged
to fulfill another condition of his mother's will. He was to attend a
military academy, and win his way up, not only in studies, but in the
affections of his classmates, without any influence from his wealth.

How he succeeded again heavy odds, how there were plots and counterplots
against him, how he fought a duel with one of the cadets who disliked
him, and how he solved the mystery of Corporal Handlee's identity is
told in the second book.

Dick's first term ended with a glad surprise, just when it looked as if
everything had turned against him, and he came back to Hamilton Corners
to spend the summer vacation, having done more than was expected of him
in the matter of winning his way.

Dick returned to Kentfield Academy in the fall, and remained there all
that winter. He was promoted to a captaincy, and was more popular than
ever, winning glory for himself and his mates on the gridiron, for he
was one of the best football players who ever wore moleskin. When the
present story opens the summer vacation was again at hand, and during it
Dick was destined to have more stirring adventures than had yet fallen
to his lot.

It took Dick all the afternoon to complete arrangements for his spread,
even though several of his comrades helped him. There were many details,
however, which he had to see to himself, but finally he had the
assurance of the caterer that everything necessary would be sent out to
the academy.

Dick gave his personal check for the cost, and it was not a small sum,
but the young millionaire had plenty of money to his credit. Then he
hurried home to dress for the affair.

"Oh, you look good enough; come on!" exclaimed Paul Drew to Dick, as the
latter was surveying his uniform in a small glass in their room that
night, just before the time set for the farewell supper. "This isn't a
fancy dress ball, and there aren't going to be any girls at it. Don't
primp!" "I'm not primping, but the tailor made this coat too tight, and
I'm afraid if I reach across the table I'll split it down the middle."

"Which, the table or the coat?"

"Both," retorted Dick, and then, to test the garment, he stretched out
his arms. There was an ominous ripping sound, and he hastily threw back
his shoulders in alarm.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, reproachfully.

"Don't stretch; that's all," advised Paul. "But come on if you're
coming."

They descended to the improvised banquet hall. The place was tastefully
arranged, except that Toots had taken the cut flowers Dick had
ordered--a mass of roses, pinks and smilax--and stuck them into a big
water pitcher in the centre of the table.

"Oh, wow! See that!" cried Dick. "It looks like a boarding-house
hash-foundry! Here, Paul, help me scatter the posies more artistically.
They remind me of a cabbage-head at a county fair; but Toots meant all
right."

The two cadets soon had made several bouquets of the flowers, and set
them in different places on the table, producing a much more artistic
effect. Then Dick stepped back to admire it.

"I smell grub!" cried a voice outside.

"Hash and baked beans!" added another.

"Pickled pigs' feet!" was a third contribution.

"If I can't have quail on toast, stuffed with horse chestnuts and
snowballs I'll not play!" howled a fourth.

"Here they come," said Paul, significantly.

"I hear 'em," replied Dick, with a grin.

The door flew open, and in rushed a crowd of the cadets of Dick's
company. At the sight of their captain, they stopped momentarily, and
several hands rose in salute.

"Drop it!" cried Dick, warningly. "We're here to have fun. The book of
rules and military tactics has been burned at the stake. We're all
alike, now."

"That is, we're all hungry," added Perkins, with a laugh. "Say, but this
is going some; eh, fellows?"

"Talk about a grand spread!" exclaimed Ball. "This puts it all over
anything I've been to since my sister had a surprise party."

"Glad you like it," remarked Dick, simply. To do him credit the banquet
was really quite an elaborate affair, and he had spared no money to have
it just as his cultured taste told him it should be, even if it were an
informal affair.

More cadets came piling in, laughing and shouting, until the room was
filled.

"Sit down, fellows," invited Dick, and when they were in their chairs he
gave orders to the caterer's men to serve the spread. From then on there
was heard the clatter of knives, forks and spoons, the rattle of dishes
mingling with the talk and laughter of the guests.

"Dick, you've got to make a speech!" shouted Perkins. "Tell us how we
won the medal."

"No speeches," mumbled Dick, his mouth half full of roast chicken.

"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!" yelled a score of voices. They were
not to be denied, and Dick, blushing in spite of his effort to remain
cool, stood up.

"All I've got to say is that it was you fellows who won the prize--not
me," he said. "I'm proud of you, proud of--er--and proud of--er--that
is--Oh, hang it all! Go on eating. There's lots more when this is gone!"
and Dick sat down, amid laughter and applause.

The banquet proceeded amid much merriment. There were songs and college
yells, and the musicians hired by Dick added to the din.

"What are you going to do this summer?" asked Paul Drew, who, as first
lieutenant, sat at the young captain's right hand.

"Don't know. Haven't exactly made up my mind yet. I want to travel, but
I fancy dad has some plans for me. By Jove! that reminds me. I got a
letter from him this morning, but I haven't had a chance to read it
through and get the hang of it yet, though I've tried half a dozen
times. It's something important, but I don't know just what it is."

"Go ahead and read it now," advised Paul. "The bunch is singing the
'Cannon Song' and they won't notice."

"Guess I will," agreed the young millionaire, and he drew out the
letter. It was filled with general news of Hamilton Corners, and Mr.
Hamilton expressed the pleasure it would be to see his son again, when
school closed. Then followed this:

     "Now, Dick, I've got what may prove quite a task for you this
     summer. I don't know what your plans are, but I hope you will have
     time to give me a little assistance.

     "You remember I once spoke to you of some valuable property your
     mother owned, and how I planned to form a syndicate and erect a
     large factory on it. Well, I started the syndicate, got a number of
     friends interested in it, and we were ready to go ahead when
     unexpected difficulties cropped up. We found it hard to interest
     outside capital because of a certain flaw in the title to the
     property, and, curiously enough, the flaw has to do with some
     distant relatives of your mother.

     "These relatives have disappeared, and I have been unable to get a
     trace of them. It is very necessary that I find them, and I am in
     hopes that you can help me. So, Dick, there is work cut out for you
     this summer, if you wish to do it. Come home as soon as you can
     after the academy closes, and I will tell you more about this. It
     is very important, not alone to me, but to a number of
     comparatively poor persons who have invested money in this
     enterprise, and who may lose if the affair is not straightened out.
     I am depending on you to help me."

Dick folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket. His face wore a
serious look.

"Any bad news?" asked Paul, anxiously.

"No; only it seems that I'm about to start off on a mysterious quest for
missing relatives."

"That sounds good. Wish I had something like that to occupy me this
summer. I hope you have luck."

"Thanks. I haven't the least idea where I'm to go, or how. But dad will
explain when I get home."

"Come on, now, everybody! We're going to sing 'Farewell to Old
Kentfield'!" cried Ed Watson. "Everybody!"

The cadets leaped to their feet, and soon the strains of the grand old
song welled out of the banquet hall. Grit, the bulldog was hoisted to a
place of honor on two chairs, beside Dick, and he looked on as if he
understood it all.

The banquet was nearing an end, and at last, with a clasping of hands
around the tables, and a rendering of another verse of the song, while
cheers for Dick were mingled with the strains, the affair came to a
close.

"What's your hurry?" asked Paul, as Dick walked toward his room in the
barrack building.

"I'm going to pack up to-night, and take the first train for home in the
morning. I'm anxious to find out what dad wants of me."

"That's so; you're going off to trail a forty-second grand-aunt, or
something like that. Well, I may see you this summer," and the two
friends shook hands.

The next morning, after a prolonged series of farewells, Dick and his
bulldog took a train for Hamilton Comers, a fair-sized town in one of
our middle western states.

"I wonder where dad's quest will lead me?" mused Dick, as the train
speeded him homeward. Little did he realize what perils were to follow
his search for the missing relatives.

DICK'S STEAM YACHT

Entering the front hall of his home, some hours later, with Grit leaping
joyfully about at his heels, Dick was greeted by Gibbs, the butler, with
a warmth warranted by many years of service in the Hamilton family.

"Is my father at home, Gibbs?" asked Dick.

"He's in the library, Mr. Dick. Your uncle is with him."

"My uncle? You mean----?"

"Mr. Larabee," finished the butler.

"Oh!" exclaimed Dick, regretfully. "Uncle Ezra here!" he murmured. "I
wonder what's wrong at Dankville? Or, maybe there's some new plan afoot,
and that I have, after all, to go and live with him." There was dismay
on Dick's face.

For Uncle Ezra Larabee was not a very pleasant individual. He was quite
wealthy, but he did not enjoy his money. He had a fine place at
Dankville, a village about a hundred miles from Hamilton Corners, but
the house, which was gloomy in itself, was hidden in the midst of a
grove of dark fir trees, that made it more gloomy than ever. Inside
scarcely a room was open to the sunlight, and once, when on his
trial-visit, Dick had opened the parlor to look at some pictures, his
Aunt Samanthy exclaimed in horror that the apartment was never used save
for funerals.

Dick's Uncle Ezra was a curious, crabbed sort of a man, who doubtless
meant well, but who had a queer way of showing it. He liked order and
neatness to extreme, and there was not a misplaced stick or a stone
about his farm and house. He even disliked to have persons step on the
gravel walks, for fear of dislodging some of the small stones, and
spoiling the trim symmetry of the paths.

Mr. Larabee was very fond of money--too fond, Mr. Hamilton used to
think, for the millionaire was of a generous disposition. Uncle Ezra
never could reconcile himself to Dick having such a fortune in his own
right. More than once he and his nephew had quarreled over what Uncle
Ezra called the "foolishness" of Mrs. Hamilton, his sister, leaving so
much money to a mere youth. Of a sour disposition, hating to spend a
cent unnecessarily, somewhat bitter against Dick's habit of making his
money bring him pleasure, and helping others with his wealth, it is no
wonder that when Uncle Ezra came to Hamilton Corners Dick was not happy.
Mr. Hamilton himself was not overly-fond of his brother-in-law, but he
always treated him well.

"I suppose I may as well go in the library, say how d'ye do to my
respected relative, and get a bad job over with," remarked Dick, in no
pleasant frame of mind at the information Gibbs furnished. "Uncle Ezra
will be sure to scold me for 'wasting my time' as he calls it, at the
military school, and he's positive to make a fuss about Grit. He always
does. Grit, old man, I guess you'd better stay out in the hall, until we
get this business over with. You remember Uncle Ezra, don't you?"

Grit whined, and growled. Evidently he did remember. It was no easy
matter to make him stay away from Dick, and out in the hall, but he knew
when to mind, and, with a sort of reproachful look on his ugly but
honest face, the bulldog stretched out on a rug, as much as to say:

"Don't be any longer than you can help, Dick."

Dick could hear the voices of his father and uncle in the big, handsome
library, where our hero had spent many pleasant hours with his favorite
books. Mr. Larabee was speaking.

"I tell you what it is, Mortimer," he remarked to his brother-in-law.
"It's all a sinful waste of money, and the sooner you find it out the
better. Why it's the most crazy idea of any that my sister ever got into
her head! Don't let Dick do it!"

"They're talking about me," thought the young millionaire, and he hardly
knew whether to go in, or wait for another time. But, before he could
move away from the door, he heard his father's voice.

"Well, Ezra, I don't agree with you, but that's not strange, since I
seldom do."

"It would be a lot better if you did," snarled Uncle Ezra.

"There are two opinions about that. At any rate, I shall carry out the
wishes of my wife. She wished Dick to be brought up in a certain way,
and I shall do my best to fulfil her plans. She would have done it
herself had she lived. So Dick shall make the experiment. I know it will
do him good. He needs change after a hard winter in school."

"But, Mortimer, think of the cost! It's going to be awful!" and there
was agony in the crabbed old man's voice.

"Oh, it won't cost such a pile, Ezra. Besides, Dick can afford it, and
if he can't I can. The money couldn't be put to better use."

"Yes it could, Mortimer. There's where you're mistaken. It could be
invested in tenement houses, and made to pay big interest. You
could----"

"I'll never build tenements with any of my money, nor with Dick's,
either!" interrupted Mr. Hamilton. "I don't want to make a profit out of
the poor."

"Then invest it in stocks or bonds," went on Mr. Larabee, eagerly. "They
pay well."

"I have enough investments as it is, and so has Dick," answered the
millionaire. "No, Ezra, I have made up my mind. Dick shall have a chance
to see the world--or, at least, part of it. As soon as he comes home
I'll tell him of his mother's plan----"

Dick thought it time to make his presence known. He rattled the knob of
the library door, and heard a start of surprise from within. Then he
entered.

"Hello, dad!" he exclaimed, fairly rushing up to Mr. Hamilton, and
clasping his two hands in an eager grip. "How are you, Uncle Ezra?"

"Why, Dick, my boy!" cried the rich man, heartily, "I didn't expect you
so soon. Oh, but I _am_ glad to see you! It's like old times to have you
back! Where's Grit?" And he clapped his son on the back more like some
fellow-cadet than a father.

"I--I left Grit outside, dad."

"Have you got that miserable dog yet?" demanded Uncle Ezra, giving Dick
one finger to shake, and that rather grudgingly.

"Grit is outside, Uncle. I knew you didn't like him, and----"

"Like him? I should say not! Why that critter eats as much as a horse,
and doesn't do a stroke of work to pay for his keep."

"Well, Dick, how are you?" asked his father, holding him off at arm's
length, to get a better view. "My, but you've grown, though you're a
little pale."

"Yes, there wasn't much chance to tan up in the winter. But I'm glad to
get home. How's everybody? You're looking well yourself, dad. Oh, Uncle
Ezra," spoke Dick quickly, as he thought of something, "how's Aunt
Samanthy?"

"Oh, she ain't as well as she might be. She has something the matter
with her stomach, and the medicine she has to take is very
expensive--very! Besides, she's had the doctor real frequent of late,
and that runs up an expense; not that I mind it so much, but it seems
doctors charge more than they used to. No, your Aunt Samanthy ain't as
well as she might be."

"I'm sorry to hear that," murmured Dick, as sympathetically as he could.

"Everything go off well at school?" asked Mr. Hamilton.

"Yes, dad; and my company took first prize."

"Good! Glad to hear it."

"I treated the boys to a good feed on the strength of it, too, last
night."

"That's right."

"Did it cost much?" asked Uncle Ezra, putting his hand into his pocket,
doubtless to see if his purse were safe.

"Oh, not so very much; but it was worth all it cost."

"A sinful waste of money!" murmured the crabbed old man. "You could have
given them coffee and sandwiches, just as well as an elaborate supper,
Richard."

"Well, we're glad to have you back, Dick," went on Mr. Hamilton, hoping
to change the subject. "Didn't expect you until this evening. We were
just talking about you--your uncle and I."

"Yes--I--er--I overheard some of it," said Dick.

"Then I hope you'll profit by it!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, quickly. "For
of all the foolish, nonsensical, wasteful, extravagant ideas, the one
your father has got into his head now is the worst I ever heard."

Dick looked questioningly at his parent.

"Your Uncle Ezra doesn't agree with what I am going to propose, Dick,"
said the millionaire with a laugh, "but I hope you will. I did not
intend telling you this until to-morrow, but it will do no harm to
mention it now.

"Dick, your mother, as you know, had very advanced ideas as to what a
young man with considerable wealth ought to do with it. Some of her
plans for you have already been carried out. There are others which are
mere suggestions, communicated to me before she--before she left us,"
and Mr. Hamilton spoke softly, while Dick felt a lump come into his own
throat.

"Dick, my boy, your mother wanted to have you see the world, when you
got old enough to appreciate the beauties of it, and I think you are at
about the right age to begin now. She suggested to me that, when I
thought it wise, I should let you have a well-equipped steam yacht, and
cruise about during an entire summer."

"A steam yacht, dad!" cried the youth, his eyes sparkling.

"That's it, Dick. How do you like the idea?"

"Like it? Why, dad, it's immense! Great! Fine! When can I have it, and
where can I go?"

"You may have it as soon as you like, and go where you please--that is,
except to cross the ocean. I hardly think I'd like to have you venture
as far as that on your first voyage. Otherwise you're unrestricted;
though I have a suggestion to make later."

"Oh, dad! Do you really mean it? A steam yacht all for myself?"

"Certainly, and you can take along as many of your friends as you
please. Perhaps Uncle Ezra would like to go."

"Who, me? Are you crazy, Mortimer? I wouldn't go in one for a thousand
dollars, and besides, I can't spare the time from my business and farm.
My hired man would be sure to burn the barn down, and I'd lose more
money than I could make in a year. No sea voyages for me!"

"Am I going to have a yacht made to order?" asked Dick. "Because if I
am, it will take so long that I can't get started this summer."

"That's right," agreed Mr. Hamilton. "So you had better look around for
a good boat that has been slightly used. I think you can find one in
New York. There, the news is out, Dick, and I hope you are pleased."

"Pleased? I can't begin to thank you! I wonder where I shall go?"

"I may have something to suggest on that score later," went on Mr.
Hamilton. "Just now, suppose we have a little lunch. Come, Ezra."

"Not for me, Mortimer!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee. "It's bad for the
digestion to eat between meals, and besides, it's a wasteful habit. But,
Nephew Richard, I want to protest against this idea of you buying a
steam yacht, and squandering money on travel. There is no sense in it!
You had much better put the money out at interest. I can sell you some
shares in a woolen mill I own, and you could spend your summer vacation
in the factory, learning a useful trade."

"No, thank you, Uncle Ezra, I think I'll do as my mother wished me to,
and travel," said Dick.

"Oh, the wastefulness of this rising generation!" murmured the old man.
"It is terrible! Terrible!"

Dick and his father turned to leave the library.

"A steam yacht! A steam yacht all for myself and friends! It's too good
to be true!" cried Dick enthusiastically, as he linked his arm in his
father's. "Can't you come along, dad?"

"I'm afraid not. But now let's discuss some details. You haven't any too
much time. Come along, Ezra, and have a cup of coffee, anyhow."

Mr. Ezra Larabee declined and lingered behind as his nephew and
brother-in-law left the handsome room.

"A steam yacht," murmured the old man. "A sinful waste of money! It's
time I took a hand in this! Mortimer Hamilton is crazy to let his son do
this. It will be the ruination of the boy. I--I must stop this waste of
money in some way, even if I have to prevent him--but no, I mustn't even
whisper it. But I have a plan--I have a plan! Perhaps, after all, I can
keep Richard from becoming a spendthrift. That would be terrible! I must
try! I must try!" and, rubbing his gnarled hands together, the old man
sat down in an easy chair. There was a look of cunning and craftiness on
Mr. Larabee's face, and, as he thought of something, a smile spread
itself over his wrinkled features, and the little tuft of white whiskers
on his chin moved up and down as he mumbled to himself:

"I must prevent it! I must prevent it! I can think of some scheme. The
Hamilton fortune shan't be squandered if I can help it, for it will come
to me and my wife when they--when they are both gone, and I'm going to
live a good while yet--a good while," and Uncle Ezra rubbed his dry
hands together, and chuckled in a mirthless fashion.

Meanwhile Dick and his father talking over the scheme of purchasing a
steam yacht, were all unconscious of the plot that Mr. Larabee was
planning against them.

CHAPTER IV

UNCLE EZRA'S PLOT

"This isn't to be altogether a pleasure trip, Dick," went on Mr.
Hamilton, when he and his son were alone in the reception hall. "I
suppose you got my letter, telling you about some distant relatives I
need to locate?"

"Yes, I got your note, but you didn't go into details."

"No, it wasn't exactly safe, in a letter. I'll tell you about it now,
and I hope you can combine business and pleasure. How would you like to
sail for Cuba?"

"Cuba? Fine! That would suit me."

"Well, I'd like to have you make a trip down there, and, after you find
the persons I'm looking for, you can cruise somewhere else; along the
New England coast, if you like."

"All right, dad. Let's hear the story."

"I think I never told you," began Mr. Hamilton, "that your mother had
some distant relatives in Cuba. One of her cousins named Rose Martin
married a Cuban gentleman, named Raphael Valdez. For a time they were
quite well off, but, just before your mother left us she learned that
her cousin had died, and that her husband and son were in want.

"Your mother endeavored to send them some relief, but just then the
Spanish-American war broke out, and all trace was lost of the Valdez
family, who were of Spanish extraction. Your mother grieved very much at
not being able to help her relatives, even if they were so distantly
related, and I promised that I would aid her.

"Then--then came your mother's death," and Mr. Hamilton's voice
faltered. "I had many cares, and the matter slipped from my mind. Now,
it is to find, if possible, these people that I wish you to go to Cuba,
Dick."

"In order to give them aid?"

"Yes, if they need it; but also for another reason. That reason I hinted
at in my letter. It seems that, some time ago, your mother purchased a
large piece of valuable property in the business section of New York. It
has increased in value of late, and a syndicate has been formed to erect
a large office building on it. I am interested in it--in fact, I hold a
majority of the stock.

"Well, when the time came to interest outsiders, and borrow money to
erect the building, for I do not care to finance it all alone, we found
that there was a flaw in the deed. Your mother paid cash for the
property, and she thought she had a good title, but it seems that now,
when the ownership has passed to me by will, that the names of this
Senor Valdez and his son are needed on the deed."

"And you want me to locate them, and get their signatures?" asked Dick.

"Either that, or bring them to Hamilton Corners, or New York, where they
can sign. I also want you to aid them if they are in want. I have had
several firms of lawyers, both in New York and in Cuba, looking for the
Valdez family, but no trace of them can be found. I have spent much time
and money on it, for I want this matter cleared up. The whole thing is
hanging fire until we can get those signatures. Outside capital will not
be invested in the enterprise, for the title guarantee company will not
certify to the title while this flaw exists. So you see it is very
necessary to find the Valdez father and son, and I hope you can do it."

"But couldn't you erect the building on this land yourself, and finance
it alone?"

"I could, but it is a sort of philanthropic enterprise. It is a stock
company, and the funds of widows and orphans are tied up in it. If it
goes through they will make considerable money, but if it does not they
will lose. Of course, I could step in and take entire financial
responsibility, but if I did this it might be said that I had put up a
game, to enrich myself at the expense of the poor who invested their
money because I stood back of the enterprise. It would look as though I
had invented this fact of the title not being clear, to gain some
advantage."

"I see," said Dick.

"Another thing," went on his father. "Your mother left a certain sum,
under her will, to Senor Valdez and his son, and they are also, it
seems, entitled to a tenth part of this New York property, and I wish
them to have their rights.

"So I want to find these people, get their signatures to a deed, and the
title will be clear. Then the work can proceed, the building will be
erected, and all will be well. It is very important, Dick, and it is
growing more so every day.

"That is why this plan of your mother's to have you get a steam yacht
happens at a good time. You can go to Cuba, and begin this search for
me--the search in which the lawyers have failed."

"Well, dad, I'll do my best!" exclaimed the young millionaire.

"And it will be just as well if your Uncle Ezra doesn't know that you
are going to Cuba to look for your mother's relatives," went on Mr.
Hamilton. "Not that it would make any particular difference, only I
would prefer that the fact did not become generally known. So,
ostensibly, you will be going on a mere pleasure trip, and in a sense it
will be that, for you will probably take some of your friends along."

"So I will, dad. It will be great!"

"Well, now that so much is settled, we can defer talking about the rest
until after supper," suggested Mr. Hamilton, as he and his son walked
toward the dining-room.

"About how large a yacht do you think I ought to get, dad?" asked Dick,
as the butler placed their chairs at the table.

"Well, suit yourself about that. Of course, you want a good, seaworthy
craft, but I shouldn't get one too large. If you do you'll have to
engage a big crew to help navigate it; and again, while I have no wish
to restrict you in the spending of your fortune, you will find yachting
pretty expensive."

"Expensive! I should say it was, Mortimer!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee,
coming into the dining-room at that moment. "Don't think of letting
Richard have a yacht."

"We have already discussed that," said Mr. Hamilton, somewhat coldly,
"and my mind is made up. Better have something to eat, Ezra."

"Well, I will have a bit of dry toast and a cup of weak tea. I don't
believe that will give me the dyspepsia," and the butler tried to
conceal a smile as he set before the crabbed old man the very frugal
repast.

Dick and his father talked yachting from the beginning until the end of
the meal, and Uncle Ezra Larabee was a silent, but objecting listener.
Occasionally a crafty look came over his face, to be replaced by one of
agony when Dick mentioned the spending of large sums of money. At
length, Mr. Hamilton said:

"Well, my boy, I think the simplest way out of it would be for you to
go to New York, and look around for yourself. Perhaps you may pick up a
bargain in a steam yacht. You have my full permission to do as you think
best, only, as I said, don't get too large a craft. Take a week for the
task, and I think you'll get what you want."

"That's what I'll do, dad. I'll go to New York in a few days, and see
what I can do."

"Perhaps your Uncle Ezra would like to go with you," went on Mr.
Hamilton.

"Who, me?" exclaimed the old man, carefully picking up from the
table-cloth some crumbs of toast and eating them. "No, Mortimer, I
haven't any money to waste on trips to New York. Living is frightfully
expensive there."

"I'll pay for everything," said Dick, generously.

"No--no," and his uncle spoke slowly, and with an evident effort.
"I--I--er--I've got to get back to Dankville. I know some of my hired
men will waste the oats in feeding the horse, or else they'll burn too
much kerosene oil, sitting up nights to read useless books. No, I must
get back. The gravel walks need raking, and I always cut my lawn this
time of year. I'll go home. But, before I go, I want to have a little
talk with you, Mortimer, on a very serious subject."

"All right, Ezra. I guess Dick will excuse us."

Mr. Hamilton arose from the table, followed by his brother-in-law. As
Uncle Ezra pushed back his chair there was a mingled howl and growl,
followed by a short bark.

"Grit!" cried Dick. "You've stepped on my bulldog, Uncle Ezra!"

"Served him right!" snapped the old man. "Dogs have no business in the
house. I'd have him shot if he were mine!"

An angry retort rose to Dick's lips, but by an effort he calmed himself.

"Here, Grit, old fellow," he called soothingly, and the dog crawled up
to him, limping slightly.

"Dogs are no good," went on Mr. Larabee, pointing a long, lean finger at
Grit. "If he were mine I'd----"

He didn't finish the sentence, for the bulldog, with the hair on the
ridge of his back standing up in anger, and with his lips parted in an
ugly snarl, darted away from Dick. The animal might have sprung at Mr.
Larabee, but for the restraining hand of his master on his collar.
However, the crabbed old man did not wait. Toward the library he fled,
crying out:

"Hold him, Richard! Hold him! If he bites me I'll sue your father for
damages!"

He reached the library and slammed shut the door. Mr. Hamilton followed
more slowly, endeavoring not to smile or laugh.

"Better put Grit outside, Dick," he said. "Your uncle is going home in
the morning."

"All right," agreed the young millionaire, somewhat regretfully. "Come
on, Grit, old man, we'll go out to the stable and see how Rex is getting
along," for Dick had not greeted his pet horse since his return from the
academy.

Mr. Hamilton continued on to the library, and tried the door. It was
locked.

"Let me in, Ezra," he called.

"Is that savage dog gone?" inquired Mr. Larabee, with anxiety in his
voice.

"Yes, Dick has taken him to the stable."

"That's where he belongs. Wait a minute and I'll open the door."

There were sounds inside, as though tables and chairs were being moved
away from the portal, and then Uncle Ezra's lean face was thrust
carefully out of a crack of the door, as he cautiously opened it. He
took a survey up and down the hall, and, seeing no signs of Grit, swung
the door wider.

"He wouldn't hurt you," said Mr. Hamilton, as he entered. "Grit is as
gentle as a lamb."

"Lamb! Humph, you can't make me believe that!" snorted Mr. Larabee.
"He'd have bitten me if I'd stayed there."

Mr. Hamilton did not answer, but drawing up an easy chair, and
indicating another for his brother-in-law, inquired:

"What was it you wanted to see me about, Ezra?"

"It's this," went on Mr. Larabee, walking over and locking the library
door. "I'm going back to Dankville to-morrow, but, before I go, I
consider it my duty to make one last appeal to you not to let Richard go
off on this yachting cruise."

"Why not?"

"Because it will squander a lot of money that he ought to save up
against the time of need."

"Oh, Dick has plenty, and so have I."

"That may be, but it's the wrong sort of training for a young man.
Richard ought to be taught the habits of thrift and frugality."

"His mother and I think he ought to be trained to fulfill his station in
life, which is that of a millionaire. Did you ever stop to think, Ezra,
that a millionaire may do good by spending his money freely, not
foolishly."

"No, I don't know as I ever did."

"Well, he can. Think of how many persons he keeps employed, and how he
helps to give them a chance to earn their living."

"Well, Mortimer, you and I never will think alike on that subject. But
will you do as I ask--not let Richard waste this money for a yacht?"

"I'm afraid I can't do as you ask, Ezra. I've promised Dick that he may
have the boat, and I'm sure it will do him good."

"Humph!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra. Then his face took on a hard and
determined look.

"Mortimer," he said finally, after a silence, "I don't like to
interfere, but you must remember that Richard's mother was my only
sister. I loved her, though I did not agree with some of her views. I'm
fond of Richard, and I want to see him grow up a careful and saving man.
But he never will as long as you allow him to go on in this fashion."

"I'm afraid it's too late to change our plan, Ezra."

"No, it's not too late! I'll take a hand in this myself. If you won't
bring your son up in the right way, then I'll do it for you!"

The lean old man had arisen from his chair, and was excitedly pacing the
room.

"Why, Ezra, what do you mean?" asked Mr. Hamilton, wondering what sudden
emotion had possessed his brother-in-law.

Then Mr. Larabee seemed to recollect himself. His manner suddenly
changed.

"Excuse me, Mortimer," he said more mildly. "I spoke too hastily. I--I
wasn't thinking what I was saying. I--I--er--that is, I had some hopes
that you might let Richard come to live with me and Samanthy at The Firs
for a time. I would give him good training."

"I've no doubt you would, Ezra, but Dick doesn't want to go, and I have
fallen in with his late mother's plan of having him travel and see the
world. Besides, there is another important phase to it."

"Very well," spoke Mr. Larabee, and he seemed to be careful of his
words. "Then we'll say no more about it, Mortimer. Now, I think I'll get
ready to return to Dankville."

"Why, it's too soon. You're not going until morning, are you?"

"No, but I must get my things in order, and I have some business to
attend to. I think I'll go do it now. Do you think that savage dog is
out of the way?"

"Oh, yes; you needn't fear him."

Mr. Larabee cautiously unlocked the library door, and looked out. Then
he stepped into the hall. The coast was clear, and he went upstairs to
his room. Mr. Hamilton remained in the library.

As Dick's uncle reached the head of the stairs, he turned and looked
toward the room where his brother-in-law was sitting.

"So you won't agree to my plan, to save your son from being a
spendthrift, eh?" he murmured. "Then, I'll do it for you in spite of you
and him! I'll prevent Richard from wasting all of his money, if I have
to lock him up away from you, and where you can't see him."

After supper that night, or, rather, following dinner, as Gibbs, the
butler, preferred to call it, Dick saddled Rex, his horse, and galloped
over to town in the pleasant late June evening. As he was turning into
the main street he saw a wagon coming toward him, drawn by a sleek, fat
horse, and driven by a genial-faced lad of about our hero's age.

"Hello, Henry!" called the young millionaire, pleasantly, drawing rein.
"Got a new horse, I see. How's the old iron business? Rattling away, I
suppose?"

"That's right," answered Henry Darby, with a laugh. "But this isn't a
new horse, Dick."

"No? You don't mean to say that it's the one you used to have--the same
one that couldn't draw the load of iron when I once met you?"

"The same one. I bought him from the man who sold me the iron, and I
fattened him up. The horse got rid of the ringbone, spavin, blind
staggers, dinkbots, and a few other things he had, and he's all right
now."

"You must have fed him on some iron filings to make him so strong," for
the animal was pulling a heavy load.

"No, I didn't do that, but maybe he got out of the stable and helped
himself to an old radiator or a wagon tire once in a while. So you're
back from the military school, Dick?"

"Yes, and glad of it in a way. I'm going to have a steam yacht, and
travel around a bit this vacation."

"My, oh my! Some folks are born lucky!" cried Henry, with a jolly laugh.
"Now, if I'd only been rich instead of good looking I'd buy a yacht,
too," and the two lads, both of whom were really fine-appearing chaps,
laughed together.

"I'll give you a ride when you get your vacation," promised Dick.

"The trouble is I never get one," replied Henry. "The old iron business,
that you helped me start on such a good footing, takes all my time.
Well, I must be traveling, Dick. This horse hasn't had his supper, yet,
and he needs it. So long."

"So long, Henry. Come over and see me when you get a chance."

"Humph! There aren't many millionaires who would give a fellow like me
such an invitation as that," remarked Henry Darby as he drove along,
while Dick galloped off in the opposite direction.

Dick met several of his friends in town, and spent a pleasant hour
chatting with them, before he trotted leisurely back home. He found his
father reading in the library, but Uncle Ezra had gone to bed early, as
he said he must take the first train for home in the morning. Mr.
Hamilton did not tell his son of the peculiar words and actions of his
uncle.

"Well, Dick," said Mr. Hamilton, musingly, "I suppose you'll soon be
going to New York, to buy your yacht."

"Day after to-morrow, dad."

"All right. I'll give you a letter to my lawyers there, and they'll see
to the transfer of the boat, and attend to the legal matters. Now, don't
buy any gilt-edged mining shares, Dick," and Mr. Hamilton smiled grimly,
in memory of a visit his son once paid to the metropolis, as related in
the first volume of this series.

"I'll not," promised the young millionaire, and, after he and his father
had spent an hour chatting in the big apartment, the walls of which were
lined with many books, Dick retired to bed, Mr. Hamilton soon
following.

Dick's room was over an extension to the main part of the house, and was
fitted up like the "den" of any other lad, whether he has a million
dollars to his credit, or only one. There were various trophies, some
swords and guns, Indian relics, odds and ends of no earthly use to any
one but a boy, and a few pictures. Yet, everything in it meant something
to Dick, and, after all, that is the real way to decorate a "den."

Mr. Larabee, the next day, completed his preparations for returning to
The Firs, and Dick began to pack for his trip to New York. He offered to
drive his uncle to the railroad station in his auto runabout, but Mr.
Larabee did not trust autos.

"Besides," he added, "you might run over somebody, and then they'd bring
a suit for damages, and I'd be liable for part of it, on account of
being in the car with you. No, I'll walk and save the street-car fare."

"I'll take all responsibility for the damage," promised Dick, but his
uncle would not agree to an auto trip, and walked.

As Mr. Larabee said good-by to his brother-in-law and nephew, he
murmured to himself:

"I certainly must put my plan into operation. That boy Richard has
absolutely no idea of the value of money. I must save him from himself
and his father. I certainly must."

Uncle Ezra was very thoughtful on his way home that day. Riding in the
train he worked out the details of a plot that was destined to have a
very important effect on Dick's life.

"It's a little risky," thought Mr. Larabee, as the train neared
Dankville station, "and it's going to cost me considerable, but I can
get it back from the Hamilton fortune in the end, and I can charge
interest on whatever I spend. It's in a good cause, and I'll do it, for
I must teach Richard the value of a dollar!"

Mr. Larabee reached home, and was welcomed by his wife, who carefully
watched him to see that he wiped his feet as he entered the house. He
told of his visit to his brother-in-law's house, and denounced Mr.
Hamilton's action in letting Dick have a steam yacht. Then, after a
frugal meal, the lights were put out, to save kerosene oil, and the
gloomy house of The Firs was shrouded in darkness.

But, somehow, Uncle Ezra Larabee couldn't sleep. He tossed from side to
side in the bed, and, now and then, he muttered to himself:

"I'll do it! I vum I'll do it! It's the only way."

His wife noted his restlessness.

"What's the matter, Ezra?" she asked. "Can't you sleep? Are you sick?"

"Nope. I'm all right."

But Mr. Larabee wasn't. Sleep would not come to him. He was busy
thinking of many things, but chief of all was a plan he had evolved to
save Dick Hamilton from what the old man thought was a trip that would
"waste" much money.

"I've got to do it," murmured Uncle Ezra to the darkness all about him.
"It may not be accordin' to strict law, but it's justice. I've got to do
it," and he turned wearily from one side of the bed to the other as he
worked out the details of his plot.

"For land sakes!" exclaimed his wife at length, for she was being kept
awake, "can't you doze off, Ezra?"

"No, I can't seem to, Samanthy."

"Maybe your railroad trip upsot ye?"

"No, I guess not. I think I'll sleep now. I've had lots to think of,
Samanthy."

Once more he shifted his position and tried to close his eyes, but they
would not stay shut. He found himself staring up at the ceiling in the
darkness.

He arose, got a drink of water, and came back to bed. But he seemed more
wide-awake than ever.

"Ezra," called his wife again, "are you thinkin' of the dollar an'
nineteen cents you once lost? Maybe that's what's keepin' you awake."

"No, it ain't that, Samanthy."

"Then, what is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why, Ezra. You ain't in trouble; be ye? You ain't goin' to keep a
secret from me; be ye?"

"I ain't in trouble, no, Samanthy, but I've got to keep this thing
quiet until--well, until I'm ready to tell it."

"But what's it about, Ezra?"

"Well, it's about Nephew Richard and his money. He'll run through his
mother's fortune in no time, if I don't take a hand and save it."

"Do tell, Ezra! What are you goin' to do?"

"Samanthy, I'm going to do something desperate! I've got to do it to
save Dick. Why, his father's as crazy as he is about spending money.
I've got to do something desperate."

"You--you won't get arrested for it; will you, Ezra?"

"I hope not. But go to sleep, Samanthy. I'll tell you about it--when
it's time," and, having thus gotten this much of the plot off his mind,
Uncle Ezra turned over and went to sleep. But he did not have pleasant
dreams.

CHAPTER V

DICK IS SHADOWED

Bearing a letter to his father's attorneys in New York, Messrs. Blake &
Carrington, Dick started for the metropolis the second day after his
uncle's visit.

"Now use your own judgment about getting your yacht," said the
millionaire to his son, "but, of course, be guided by the lawyers.
Buying a steam craft is rather a large operation, especially if you
don't know much about it."

Highly elated at the prospect of the good times before him, Dick sat in
the parlor car of the fast express, as he was whirled toward the big
city, and made plan after plan.

"I'll get a lot of the fellows, some from the academy and some from
town, and we'll have a glorious time yachting," he told himself. "We'll
go up the New England coast, and down to Florida and maybe even to
Bermuda and to Cuba, and--by Jove I've a good notion to try to double
Cape Horn! That would be something to talk about when I got back."

It did not seem to occur to Dick that he was laying out sufficient
travel for several vacations, all in one. But it's lots of fun to make
plans, especially when you have the money to carry them out--and
sometimes even when you haven't.

Dick reached Manhattan after a day and night of travel, registered at a
hotel that his father frequently stopped at when in New York, and was
shown to a suite of rooms that suited his ideas of luxury. They were not
too elaborate, consisting of a bedroom, sitting-room and bath, but they
were tastefully furnished. After a dinner, at which he ordered as the
chief dish lobster, principally because he seldom could get it fresh at
home, he went to a theatre.

"I'll see the lawyers the first thing in the morning," thought Dick,
"and then the sooner I can buy that yacht the better. I'm anxious to get
out to sea."

Mr. Blake, the senior partner of the firm, received the young
millionaire cordially next morning.

"Your father wrote to me some time ago," he said, "stating that you
might come on to select a steam craft, and so I have been on the lookout
for one for you. I have several in view, and if you wish we'll go and
take a look at them."

"Nothing would suit me better," announced Dick, eagerly.

Piloted by the attorney, Dick was taken to the anchorage of the New York
Yacht Club.

There were several trim craft there, which could be purchased, and Dick
was shown over them by the persons in charge. One was a rakish-looking,
clipper-built boat, constructed more for speed than for comfort. It was
a beautiful craft, but Dick decided he did not care for swift sailing,
and would rather have more room.

Another yacht, the _Isabelle_ seemed to him, at first, to be just right.
She had new engines and boilers, and was magnificently fitted up. But
the price was very high, and, while Dick could have afforded it, Mr.
Blake pointed out that the yacht would require a crew of about
twenty-five men, and Dick did not think he cared to preside, as captain
_pro tem_, over such a force.

"I want something smaller, I think," he said.

"That's my own opinion," remarked Mr. Blake.

They had exhausted the possibilities at the Yacht Club anchorage, so the
lawyer proposed a trip to St. George, Staten Island, off which several
yachts, that their owners wished to dispose of, were anchored. There
Dick found three which would have suited him, but Mr. Blake advised him
not to commit himself, but to look further before deciding.

"We'll go over to Brooklyn," proposed the lawyer. "We may as well put in
the entire day, for buying a steam yacht is not to be disposed of too
lightly."

As they were taken out in a small motorboat, past several yachts at
anchor, they passed one, over the rail of which an old, grizzled man
was leaning, calmly smoking a short, black pipe. He was a veritable
picture of an "old sea dog," and Dick's eyes danced with pleasure at the
sight of him. A moment later his gaze wandered to the yacht herself. He
could not repress a murmur of admiration.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Blake.

"That yacht," replied the young millionaire. "That's exactly my idea of
what I want. I wonder if we can buy her?"

"I don't know, but it's easy to find out."

The lawyer directed the engineer of the motorboat to put them alongside.
As Dick approached nearer his admiration grew, until he had made up his
mind that if the interior suited him as well as did the outside that
boat would be his.

He saw the name on her stern as they approached--_Albatross_--and even
that pleased him. The yacht was a trim craft, narrow enough in beam to
indicate speed, with a high bow to take a heavy sea well, and long
enough to afford plenty of room, while her breadth was not such as to
make her too much of a roller, or wallower, in the trough of the sea.

Two slender masts, for auxiliary sails, and for signal flags, with the
conductors of a wireless apparatus strung between them, rose fore and
aft of a buff-colored funnel, rakishly set. In short, the yacht was a
beauty.

"On board the _Albatross_!" called Mr. Blake, when they were within
hailing distance.

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the old sea dog, pulling at his cap.

"I understand that yacht is for sale," went on the lawyer, for, on
consulting a list he had, he saw that she was among those he had put
down to examine.

"She might be, if any one had the money," replied the old sailor,
stuffing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe, to tamp down the tobacco.

"Well, I have the money," spoke Dick, quickly.

"Then come aboard, if you please, sir," was the more genial reply, and
the old man walked forward to where an accommodation ladder was
suspended, and lowered it.

The young millionaire observed that the old sailor walked with a limp,
and he at once made up his mind that he had a wooden leg. This diagnosis
was confirmed when Dick and Mr. Blake stepped on deck a few seconds
later.

"Well, here's the _Albatross_, and she's for sale, more's the pity,"
went on the old man, respectfully. "Many's the voyage I've sailed in her
when Mr. Richardson was alive. But he's dead, and the pretty craft's on
the market. I'm stayin' here to look after her, and d'ye know," and his
voice sank to a whisper, "I've had half a notion, more'n once, to hist
the anchor, make sail, an' start for Davy Jones' locker, me an' her
together. For I've been on her for so long that she's like a wife to
me."

"Then she is an old boat?" asked Mr. Blake, apprehensively.

"Old enough to know how to weather many a storm that some of the
new-fangled craft wouldn't dare venture out in. The only thing I have
agin' her is that she's a steamer instead of a sailer, but with her
engines stopped she can pick up a bone in her teeth when all her canvas
is spread," added the old man, proudly. "She has new engines and
boilers, and she's fit to make a trip around the world starting
to-morrow; and I wish she was!"

"Maybe she will!" cried Dick, enthusiastically. "I think I'll take her,
Mr. Blake. The _Albatross_ is just what I want."

"Wait until you go below," suggested the lawyer with a smile. "Will you
show us down, Mr.--er--Mr.--?" he paused significantly.

"Widkin is my name--Ebenezer Widkin," answered the old sailor, with a
touch of his cap. "An' you can take your choice by callin' me Ebby or
Widdy. Most of 'em calls me Widdy," he added with a grin, "in
consequence of me never havin' married."

"Well, then, Widdy, take us below," suggested Mr. Blake, and soon he and
Dick were exploring the interior of the craft. If the exterior, with its
snow-white decks and mahogany rails, its ample companionways and other
details had captivated Dick, the cabins, engine room, dining saloon and
galley completed the conquest.

"I'll take her!" he said enthusiastically to Mr. Blake. "She's just big
enough, and not too big. The engines are new, and she's fitted up just
as I want." Dick stood in the owner's cabin, the most elaborate one on
the yacht.

"Well, it's up to you, as the boys say," remarked the lawyer. "Of
course, there are many details to be looked after, but if you are
satisfied, we won't seek further. I'll see the owner's representatives,
and negotiate with them."

"Is there--if I might be so bold as to ask, sir," began Widdy, as he
shall be called, "is there a chance of the yacht being put into
commission, sir?"

"Every chance!" cried Dick, with sparkling eyes. "Every chance, Widdy."

"An' would you--that is, do you think you could find room for such a
worn-out old sea dog as me on board? I'm a A1 sailor, sir, even if I
have a wooden leg, an' I can do my share with the best of 'em, if I do
say it myself."

"I think I'd be very glad to have you as a member of the crew," answered
Dick, for he had taken a liking to the old man.

"Thank you, sir, for sayin' that. Many's the day I've sat here, smokin'
my pipe lonesome-like, wishin' some millionaire would come along and buy
her. Why, would you believe it," and his voice sank to a whisper, "I've
even been thinkin' of turnin' pirate myself, an' pickin' up a crew of my
old mates to navigate her, I've been that desperate for action, sir."

"Well, if everything goes right, you'll soon have plenty of action,"
promised the young millionaire. "I intend to take a long voyage, and
nothing would suit me better than to go in the _Albatross_."

"And you couldn't find a better craft to sail in, if you was to search
the world over!" cried Widdy. "There! I've said it, and dash my lee
scuppers! I'll stand by it in fair weather or foul! I've got a prospect
of action at last, an' I'm a bit excited-like, but you must excuse me."

Then, with a sudden motion, he took his short, black clay pipe from his
mouth, dashed it to the deck, where it broke into a score of pieces.
Then, drawing a new clay from his pocket, and breaking off the stem
short, he proceeded to fill it with tobacco, and light it. Next he
stumped off after a deck swab, with which he proceeded to clean up the
fragments of pipe and ashes.

"I'm a bit excited at times," he went on more calmly, "but I don't mean
nothin' by it. I'll smoke a new pipe to the new owner," he added. "How
soon can we sail?" he whispered hoarsely, with his hand to his mouth, as
though much depended on the secrecy of the answer.

"It will be hard to say, at present," answered Mr. Blake for Dick, "but,
if all goes well, probably within a couple of weeks."

"Then, splice my mizzen-shrouds but you'll find me ready an' waitin'!"
cried Widdy. "Ready an' waitin'!"

"Very well," said Dick, with a jolly laugh. "And I hope we'll have many
voyages together."

"By Neptune's whiskers, sir, so do I!" retorted Widdy, and he blew out a
great cloud of smoke.

Mr. Blake and his youthful client returned to shore in the motor craft,
and the lawyer promised to at once start negotiations looking to the
purchase of the yacht. As a measure of precaution, however, he insisted
that a competent expert be hired to examine the hull, engines and
boilers, and, though this meant a little delay, Dick felt obliged to
consent to it.

There was nothing more to be done that day, and, after having sent a
telegram to his father, describing the _Albatross_ in brief, and stating
that he had made up his mind to purchase her, Dick went back to his
hotel.

As he was turning down a quiet street leading to it, he became aware
that two men were regarding him rather closely. They were coming from
the opposite direction, and as they passed him they gave Dick sharp
glances.

"Humph! They'll know me again, at any rate," thought the lad. Then he
dismissed the incident from his mind. He was used to a certain sort of
publicity and attention, for, on a previous visit to New York, his trip
had been made much of by the sensational papers, and he had been
credited with doing many eccentric things of which he never even
dreamed. His picture had been frequently published, and he was more or
less stared at. He thought this was but a reflection of that episode.

Being fond of theatres, Dick decided to go to another play that evening.
He called up Mr. Blake, asking him to accompany him, but the lawyer had
another engagement, so Dick started off alone.

He thoroughly enjoyed the performance, and as he came out to get into a
taxicab, to return to his hotel, he noticed that two men, who were
standing near the vehicle which he had summoned, were looking at him
rather more closely than at other persons in the street.

Dick glanced at them. As he did so one of the men made a remark to the
other, and both turned quickly to one side, but not before the youth had
had a chance to look at their faces.

"Why, they're the same fellows I met this afternoon, near the hotel," he
said to himself. "They must think I'm quite a curiosity."

He entered the taxicab, and was rapidly whirled toward his stopping
place. His mind was filled with thoughts of his steam yacht, and with
chance adventures that might happen on the cruise. Possibly, if he had
seen the actions of the two men, immediately after his departure, he
would have not felt so easy.

For the twain, no sooner had Dick entered his vehicle, summoned another.

"Follow that car," directed the taller of the pair. "Don't let it get
away from you, and there's a fiver in it."

"You're rather free with the old man's money, ain't you, Sam?" asked the
short man, with a laugh.

"Might as well be. He's so close-fisted that it'll do him good to be
bled a bit. But hit it up, sport," this to the chauffeur of the taxicab
they were in. "I don't want to lose our young friend."

"All right," was the answer, and after Dick's vehicle sped the other,
containing the two men who were shadowing him.

CHAPTER VI

DICK ENTERS THE TRAP

The young millionaire was hungry, after the three hours spent in the
theatre, and, knowing of a restaurant famed for its late suppers, Dick
determined to go there, partly to see some of the gayer side of life in
New York at midnight, and partly to satisfy his appetite. Accordingly he
gave directions to the chauffeur, who, after speeding the machine down
Broadway, turned into Twenty-third Street.

As the vehicle swung around the corner a lad, who was crossing the
thoroughfare, had to jump nimbly to get out of the way. He reached the
curb, and standing there shook his fist at the occupants of the
taxicab--Dick and the driver.

"What's the matter?" cried the lad who had so nearly escaped being run
down. "Ain't the street big enough for you? Or do you want to chase
folks up on the sidewalk?"

"Aw, beat it!" retorted the chauffeur, with all the contempt some
automobilists feel for pedestrians. He had slowed up at the turn, but
was about to turn on more power.

"Wait! Hold on a minute!" cried Dick, leaning forward at the sound of
the other lad's voice, and a sight of his face in the gleam of an
electric lamp. "How are you, Tim Muldoon?"

For a moment the other stared at the well-dressed youth in the taxicab,
for the vehicle had come to a stop. Then over the features came a look
of glad surprise.

"Why, if it isn't Mr. Hamilton!" cried the lad in the street. "Who'd
ever think to see you here? How are you, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Make it Dick, if you don't mind, Tim," suggested the millionaire's son.
"I'm Dick and you're Tim," and the wealthy lad reached out and shook
hands with the lad, whom he had once befriended as a "fresh-air kid,"
and who, later, he had set up in the newspaper business. Tim Muldoon, a
typical New York newsboy, had accompanied Dick on a trip out west, to
inspect a gold mine, and had been instrumental in aiding him. Our hero
had not seen his protégé in some time, though he knew him at once when
the auto so nearly ran him down.

"Well, well, Tim," went on Dick. "What have you been doing with yourself
since last we met? You've have grown considerable. Is the paper business
good?"

"Fine, thanks to the start you gave me, Mr. Ham--I mean Dick. I'm
running three stands now, and I have two assistants. I get time to go
to night school, now, and I'm studying bookkeeping."

Dick had noticed that Tim spoke better language than formerly, for the
use of "dis," "dat," "youse" and kindred expressions was almost entirely
eliminated from his conversation.

"Where are you going now, Tim?" asked Dick, when they had exchanged some
remarks.

"Home. I've just finished work. Have to get ready for the early morning
papers soon, though, so I'm bound for home."

"No, you're not!" exclaimed the rich youth. "You're coming to have
something to eat with me. It's lonesome dining alone. Come on, hop in
and we'll be there in no time. Then I'll run you up home in this
buzz-wagon."

"But, Dick, I haven't any decent clothes on. I've been working and----"

"Nonsense! What do I care about clothes? Get in. We'll hire a private
room if you're so afraid some one will see you."

"It isn't that, only you----"

"Don't you worry about me; get in."

Tim complied, rather diffidently, and the much-wondering chauffeur
started the car again. As it went along there was another closely
following it, and, as the vehicle containing Dick and Tim made various
turns and twists through the different streets, to reach the restaurant,
the other taxicab did the same. Finally Tim, whose life in New York had
made him quick-witted along certain lines, leaned out of the open cab,
looked back and said:

"Any of your friends in that machine, Dick?"

"Friends? No. Why?"

"Because it's sticking to us like court-plaster. Say, sport," and Tim
leaned forward to the chauffeur, "are you wise to de--I mean _the_ fact
that we're being chased?"

"Hadn't noticed it," replied the driver, shortly.

"Well, we are. Is it a fly-cop; or has your license expired?"

"Search me," was the characteristic reply of the chauffeur. "But we'll
give 'em a run for their money," and increasing speed, he turned first
down one street and up another until, after five minutes' run, the other
cab was not in sight.

"We either lost 'em, or else they got wise and dropped back," was Tim's
opinion. "But who were they, Dick?"

"I can't imagine, unless they are some cranks who like to look at a chap
because he has a little money. Maybe they're fellows who hope to work me
for some game like Colonel Dendon did, when he tried to sell me fake
mining shares. I've noticed a couple of men who kept rather close watch
on me once or twice to-day, but I guess we've lost track of them. Well,
here we are; come in and have a good meal."

Dick paid, and dismissed the chauffeur, for other taxicabs could be
summoned at the restaurant. As the young millionaire and Tim entered
the place another machine came to a stop near the curb, a short distance
away.

"Thought they'd fool us, didn't they, Sam?" asked one of the two men who
alighted from it.

"They sure did, but it isn't so easy to lose us. We're right after him."

"You're not going to attempt anything to-night, are you?"

"No, I just want to get the lay of things. I think we can work the
racket better from a boat-end, as he'll fall easier for that; so we'll
wait a couple of days. We've got lots of time, and the graft is too good
to shorten up," after which rather enigmatical words, the two men
sauntered past the restaurant, inside of which Dick and Tim could be
seen seated at a table.

The two friends--friends in spite of the differences in their
stations--had a jolly time over their meal, Dick telling Tim something
about the proposed yachting trip, and the newsboy, in turn, relating
some of his experiences in the great city. True to his promise, Dick
insisted on taking Tim home in another auto, which he summoned, and
then, rather later than he was in the habit of turning in, the young
millionaire sought his hotel well satisfied with his evening's pleasure.

"Well, he's safe for to-night, anyhow," remarked one of two men, as they
saw Dick pass through the hotel lobby. "Now we can get some sleep." They
had resumed their shadowing from the restaurant.

"Yes, and we'll try the game to-morrow, or next day," responded the
other.

Dick's first visit after breakfast was to the office of Mr. Blake, the
lawyer. The attorney was not in, but a clerk informed the young
millionaire that matters concerning the purchase of the _Albatross_ were
proceeding satisfactorily. It would take several days, Dick was told.

"Well, the best thing I can do is to amuse myself," he remarked, as he
left the lawyer's office. He strolled back to the hotel, intending to
take a bath, and don a new suit he had just received from the tailor. As
he went up to the desk to get the key of his room, the clerk handed him
a letter, with the remark:

"Messenger left that for you a little while ago, Mr. Hamilton."

Dick read it hastily. It said:

     "DEAR MR. HAMILTON: I am trying to hurry along matters concerned
     with the purchase of your yacht. I have seen the present owners,
     but there appears to be a slight hitch, to use a nautical term. I
     have another vessel in view, in case we can not get the one you
     want. I expect to be aboard her this morning. Could you meet me on
     her? She is the _Princess_, and is anchored off One Hundred and
     Eightieth Street. Suppose you run up there? You will find a launch
     at the dock to bring you out. I think, in case we can not secure
     the _Albatross_, that you will like this vessel fully as well. Come
     if you can.

     "Yours sincerely,
     "JAMES BLAKE."

"Can't get the _Albatross_!" thought Dick, in dismay. "That will be too
bad! I'll never care for any other yacht as I did for her. But I suppose
I'd better go and see Mr. Blake. Queer, though, that they didn't tell me
in the office how things were. Maybe they didn't know, or this may have
cropped up after I left. I'll go and see the other boat, anyhow."

Dick started for the anchorage of the _Princess_, and, as he was about
to engage a taxicab, he bethought himself of the old sailor on the
_Albatross_.

"Widdy would be just the one to take along," reasoned Dick. "He knows
all about yachts--more than either Mr. Blake or myself. I've a good
notion to go get him, and see what he has to say. Even if we do have to
take a different craft from the _Albatross_, I'd like Widdy to sail with
me. I'll go get him."

The old sailor, who knew nothing of the hitch in the arrangements to
sell the yacht he was on, was a bit surprised at Dick's proposition, but
readily agreed to accompany him. He left one of his on-shore
acquaintances in charge of the _Albatross_.

"But as fer findin' as good a boat as that," said Widdy, waving his hand
toward her, as he and Dick were speeding shoreward in a motor launch,
"you can't do it. Split my lee scuppers if you can!"

And Dick, with a sigh, agreed with him. His heart was set on the
_Albatross_.

At the foot of One Hundred and Eightieth Street Dick and the old sea dog
found a small motorboat in waiting.

"Is this the launch of the _Princess_?" asked Dick of the man in charge.

"No, it's a public launch, but I can take you out to her in it. There's
the yacht, out there. A gentleman on board told me he was expecting a
visitor, and I said I'd wait around and bring him out. Are you the one?"

"I expect so," answered the young millionaire, and his eyes were taking
in the details of the yacht _Princess_. He did not like her, at first
view. She was too small, and there was none of that trimness about her
which marked the _Albatross_.

"That's nothing but a dinghy with an engine in her," was the
contemptuous remark of Widdy, as he relighted his short pipe, which was
assuming a black hue, like unto the one he had smashed on deck.

"Well, we'll go aboard," decided Dick. "I want to hear what Mr. Blake
has to say."

A few minutes later he and the old salt were ascending the accommodation
ladder of the _Princess_. They were met by a sailor in uniform.

"You'll find him below," he said to Dick, without being asked any
questions, and he motioned to an after companionway. Dick started down.
Had he but known it the young millionaire was entering the trap set for
him.

CHAPTER VII

THE ESCAPE

Followed by Widdy, the wealthy lad groped his way along a rather dark
passage. He expected every minute to be greeted by Mr. Blake, or to hear
the lawyer's voice bidding him welcome. Dick was a little surprised that
the attorney had not been out on deck, for the atmosphere below was
anything but refreshing, indicating that the _Princess_ was none too
well ventilated.

"This way, if you please," spoke a voice, and Dick had a glimpse of a
big man, attired in a sailor's suit, holding open a cabin door for him.
The lad, suspecting nothing, was about to enter, but at that moment
there came from Widdy, the old salt who was directly behind him, a snarl
not unlike that of the bulldog Grit, at a sight of Uncle Ezra Larabee.

"Oh, ho! It's you, my fine swab, is it?" cried Widdy, pushing his way
past Dick, and confronting the big sailor. "It's you, is it, an' up to
some of your knavish tricks, I'll be bound! Let me get hold of you, Jake
Shrouder, and I'll pay back some of the scores I owe you! Split my lee
scuppers! I didn't think to find you here! I made sure you was in jail,
if Davy Jones hadn't claimed you! Look out, Mr. Dick!"

And with that Widdy, stumping forward on his wooden leg, made a dive for
the husky sailor, like a man making a tackle on the football field. As
for Shrouder, if that was his name, he seemed to turn pale under his
bronzed skin.

"Widdy! You here!" he gasped, and leaped back, as if to shut himself in
the cabin he had invited Dick to enter.

"Yes, I'm here! What thieving trick are you up to now? Is it to scuttle
the ship, or shanghai somebody? Wait until I get hold of you, with a
belayin' pin in the other hand, an'----"

But Shrouder gave Widdy no chance to reach him. With a muttered
imprecation, he slammed the door shut in the face of the old sailor.
Nothing daunted, Widdy threw himself against it, using his artificial
leg as a battering ram. There was a splintering of wood, and, as the
broken door flew back, Dick saw the large man running through the cabin
toward another portal, which he frantically unlocked.

"What's the matter? What's up?" demanded the young millionaire,
anxiously. "What's wrong, Widdy?"

"Everything, Mr. Dick. Look out for yourself. There's bad business afoot
here, or Jake Shrouder would never be on hand. But I'll get him!"

He stumped forward, swinging his powerful arms to and fro, as if eager
to clasp his enemy in them, but he stumbled, and would have fallen
inside the cabin with the broken door, had not Dick caught him. At the
same time the fleeing man called out:

"The jig's up! Widdy's here!"

"Who's Widdy?" asked a man's voice, and it was followed by confused
shouts.

"Never mind. The jig's up, I tell you! Better get ashore. Cast off the
boat!" yelled the big sailor.

There was the tramp of rapid footsteps on deck. Then came a sound as of
something being dragged along--a scraping of wood on wood.

"Quick!" cried the old sailor to Dick. "They're trying to shut the
hatches on us. We must get on deck!"

Puzzled and alarmed--not knowing what to make of the strange actions of
Widdy, yet vaguely fearing, the lad turned from the cabin, and hastened
toward the companionway down which he had come. As he sprang up it he
saw the young sailor who had told him to go below shoving the hatch
cover over.

"Quit that!" cried Dick. With a quick motion he caught up a coil of rope
that had dropped on the steps, and thrust this into the crack as the man
pushed the cover forward. This prevented it from being closed.

[Illustration: WITH A QUICK MOTION HE CAUGHT UP A COIL OF ROPE, AND
THRUST THIS INTO THE CRACK.--_Page 67._ _Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht._]

A moment later Widdy was at Dick's side. The old sailor thrust his
gnarled hands into the crack, and, with a wrench, sent the companionway
cover sliding back.

"Hop out!" he called to Dick. "I'll follow."

As the lad reached the deck he saw, disappearing over the side, the
young sailor, and the big one whom Widdy had called Shrouder. They
seemed to be descending into some boat. Dick rushed to the rail. In a
small barge were two men, and it needed but a glance to disclose to the
young millionaire that they were the same two who had stared at him so
persistently the day before, and though Dick did not then know it, they
were the same pair who had followed him in the taxicab. Shrouder and the
other sailor dropped into the barge with them.

"Grab him, Mr. Dick! Grab him!" cried Widdy, as he saw his old enemy
escaping, but Dick did not think it wise to attempt to hold back the
desperate men. A few seconds later the four were pulling away from the
_Princess_ for dear life.

"Well," remarked Dick, drawing a long breath, as though he had just
taken part in a desperate race, "what's this all about, Widdy?"

"About? It's about villainy, that's what it's about, Mr. Dick! Villainy,
and scheming, and black tricks and underhand work and shanghai-games,
and looting and scuttling ships and anything else that's bad--that's
what it is," growled the old seaman, as he stumped to the side, and
shook his fist at the craft containing the four men. Then he filled his
pipe, and began to smoke more calmly.

"We could chase them in the motorboat," suggested Dick, hardly yet
understanding what it was all about.

"What's the use? Shrouder is as slippery as a greased sheet in a hail
storm. Let him go--he won't sleep any the easier to-night from having
met me. But I wish I could have laid my hooks on him," and Widdy opened
and shut his gnarled hands suggestively.

"But I don't understand," said the lad. "Where is Mr. Blake? Why should
those fellows disappear so suddenly? I was to meet the lawyer here, and
look over this boat----"

"Mr. Blake never came here," said Widdy, bluntly. "It's a plant--a
game--to get you on board. I'll wager that note sent to your hotel was
forged."

"But why should they want to get me here?"

"To rob you, most likely. They know you're rich."

"Then that must have been why those two men paid such close attention to
me," decided Dick.

"Of course," agreed the old sailor. "As soon as I clapped eyes on Jake
Shrouder I knew there was something crooked afoot. I've known him for
years--sailed all over in ships with him--and I never knew a piece of
black business afoot anywhere near him that he didn't have his finger
in. I knew there was something wrong as soon as I see him, and that's
why I made a jump for him, but he was too quick for me."

"But who does this yacht belong to?" asked Dick. "We seem to be all
alone on it."

"I hope we are. I don't want to have anything to do with those fellows.
I don't know who owns the craft. Like as not Shrouder has an interest in
her. But let's get ashore, and then we'll call on Mr. Blake and let him
know what's in the wind. It was all a plant, I tell you, to get you
aboard, and then they'd have robbed you."

"But I don't carry much money with me," objected Dick.

"No matter. They'd have found some way to get it out of you, or your
father. But, come on, let's leave this bilge-water craft. Phew! It
hasn't been swabbed out in a month of Sundays."

Stumping to the opposite side of the deck Widdy signaled to the motor
launch at the dock, the owner of it having agreed to come off and take
Dick and the sailor whenever they waved a flag. In a few minutes the two
were speeding down-town toward the lawyer's office, their questioning of
the captain of the launch having resulted in nothing. He had no
knowledge concerning the _Princess_, or the men on her.

As Widdy had surmised, the note purporting to come from Mr. Blake was a
bald forgery, but, since Dick had never seen the attorney's writing, it
was easy enough to deceive him.

"But what was their object?" asked the young millionaire.

"Robbery," decided Mr. Blake.

"But how did they know of my plans to buy a yacht?"

"Oh, easily enough. Talk travels quickly in marine circles in New York,
and I fancy you are more of a public character than you imagine. At any
rate, the men, whoever they are, knew something of your plans, and took
advantage of them to lure you to the yacht, which they either hired for
the purpose, or perhaps own. It was a clever trick, and it was lucky
Widdy recognized that man in time, or you might have been locked in a
cabin, and kept there until they had what they wanted out of you."

"I'm glad I took my sailor friend along," said Dick. "But how about the
_Albatross_? Am I likely to get her?"

"I think so. I will have her examined in a few days, and, if she passes
inspection, I will complete the purchase, and you can arrange about a
captain and crew. Perhaps your old sailor can help you out there."

"That's a good idea. I'll ask him."

It was decided that little good could be accomplished by notifying the
police of the attempt to work harm to Dick, and so no report was made of
it, for our hero disliked the newspaper sensationalism he knew would
follow. Only Mr. Blake warned the young millionaire to be careful of
where he went, and in what company he lingered.

A week passed, during which Dick enjoyed himself in New York. The steam
yacht proved to be all that was claimed for her, and the purchase was
completed.

"You are now the owner of the _Albatross_," said the lawyer to Dick, one
morning, handing him several papers.

"That's great! Now to get a captain, a crew, put coal and provisions
aboard, and set sail."

"For what port?"

"I'm going to Cuba, partly on business and partly for pleasure. Some of
my school chums are going along, and we'll have a good time. And that
reminds me of something. There's a friend of mine in New York, whom I'd
like to have go along with me. He's Tim Muldoon, a former newsboy."

"A newsboy?" and Mr. Blake looked surprised.

"Yes, and one of the truest characters who ever sold a paper. I must
look him up. He's good fun, and will enjoy the trip."

Two days later, the legal formalities all being completed, Dick engaged
the services of Captain Amos Barton, a grizzled veteran of the seas, to
command the _Albatross_, and then the young millionaire returned to
Hamilton Corners.

Captain Barton had agreed to select a small, but competent crew, and he
would also see to putting the yacht in commission. She would be ready
to sail within a week, he stated, and all Dick would have to do would
be to name the port for which he wished the graceful prow pointed.

He consulted his father on this point, and Mr. Hamilton on looking over
his papers learned that the Valdez family formerly lived in Santiago or
Havana, though his lawyers had been unable to get a trace of them at
either place.

"But you might go to Santiago, and then to Havana," suggested Mr.
Hamilton. "You'll have to do some detective work, I fancy. But look out
for those men who tried to trap you."

"Oh, I'll soon be far enough away from them, dad. I'm not worrying.
Besides, they won't try to board us with Widdy on guard. He's a great
character!"

"So I imagine. Well, good luck to you. Do your best, and use your own
judgment. You'll have to depend on yourself from now on. Have you
arranged for your friends to accompany you?"

"Not completely yet, but I will soon."

CHAPTER VIII

A FIGHT IN THE DARK

There were many busy days for Dick, following his purchase of the
_Albatross_. He received word from Captain Barton that the coaling and
provisioning of the craft were proceeding satisfactorily, and that a
good crew had been signed.

Dick had invited Tim Muldoon to go on the trip, and the newsboy agreed,
after arranging with a younger brother to look after his business. Henry
Darby also planned to accompany the young millionaire, a clerk in Mr.
Hamilton's office agreeing to have an eye to the old iron business.
Bricktop Norton was to drive the horse and collect scrap for Henry.

Dick invited a number of his military academy chums to make the cruise
with him, but he received several letters of regret, the lads stating
that vacation plans, previously made by their parents, would not permit
them to accept the young millionaire's hospitality. Paul Drew was to go
and Captain Innis Beeby, the cadet commander of Company C, wrote that he
might meet Dick in Savannah, Georgia, if the yacht would stop there on
the way to Cuba.

"Of course, we'll stop for Beeby," said Dick to Paul Drew, who had
arrived at Hamilton Corners a few days before the date set for the
departure for New York.

"Yes, Beeby's good fun. We'll have a swell time on this trip, Dick."

"I hope so. I want the fellows to enjoy themselves."

Uncle Ezra paid another visit to Dick's house, though it must have cost
him a pang to part with the money for a railroad ticket. He said he had
come to make one more appeal to Dick's father, not to allow the youth to
squander his fortune on a yacht.

"It's too late, Uncle Ezra," exclaimed Dick, gaily. "I've bought the
yacht, and we shall sail in a few days."

"Well, of all the senseless, wasteful proceedings--But there, I'm done
expostulating--I'm--I'm going to----"

But the churlish old man stopped short, and closed his thin lips like a
steel trap. There was a dangerous, crafty look in his eyes, which boded
Dick no good, but the young millionaire did not see it.

The night before the wealthy lad and his friends were to leave for the
metropolis, there to go aboard the yacht, in company with Tim Muldoon,
Dick found he had to go down-town to send some telegrams, one to
Captain Barton and another to the lawyer, Mr. Blake. Paul Drew, who,
with Frank Bender and Henry Darby, was at Dick's house, volunteered to
accompany him, but our hero said he would run down with Grit, and hurry
back, leaving his friends to amuse themselves.

It was rather a dark night, with a promise of a storm, and when the
wealthy lad started out he wished that he had not gotten a puncture in
his auto tire that day, so that he might have used the car. But he had
not had the tube repaired, and the machine was out of commission.

"But we don't mind the walk, do we, Grit?" asked the lad, and the dog
whined an answer.

The messages sent, Dick started back home, hurrying along, for the first
few drops of rain were falling, and indicated a heavy storm to come. The
wind was blowing hard, and, after an effort to keep his umbrella right
side out, Dick gave it up, furled the rain-shield, and tramped on
through the drizzle, with Grit splashing at his heels.

As the young millionaire turned the corner of a dark street, before
emerging into the thoroughfare that led to his house, he collided full
tilt into a man who suddenly seemed to jump from behind a tree.

"I beg your----" began Dick, contritely, though it was not his fault.

The next instant, and before the youth had a chance to finish his
apology, he felt himself seized from behind by a second man, while the
one who had leaped out in front of him placed his hand over his mouth.
Dick felt himself being borne backward. He struggled to maintain his
footing, and struck out blindly.

He felt his fists land on soft bodies, and once an exclamation of pain
escaped his assailants.

"We've got him!" a voice whispered. "Where's the rig?"

Dick partly squirmed loose, and wrenched the man's hand from over his
mouth.

"Take 'em, Grit!" he cried, and there was a rush of feet, while a savage
growl told Dick that his faithful dog, who had lingered somewhat behind,
was about to attack the footpads.

CHAPTER IX

OUT TO SEA

The unequal fight continued, the unknown men seeking to overpower Dick,
while he, on his part, made a desperate attempt to break the hold of the
scoundrels who held him. He was engaged in a losing game until the
arrival of his dog, when the tide of battle suddenly turned in his
favor.

Grit seized a man's leg in his jaws, and bit savagely. There was a howl
of pain, and the intelligent animal, well knowing that Dick had two foes
to deal with, did not hold his grip. Instead, after making his teeth
felt, he let go, and made a dive for the legs of the other fellow.

"Shoot the brute, Sam!" yelled the second man as he felt himself
attacked by Grit. "Blow his head off! He's biting me!"

"He's bit me, too!" exclaimed the other, faintly, and he loosed his hold
on Dick to make a grab for his injured leg.

"Let go, you beast!" yelled the man to whom Grit was still clinging. The
man endeavored to kick the bulldog loose, but the intelligent animal
knew his business. He let go, to avoid a savage kick, and made a spring
for the rascal's throat. This was too much for the footpad. He quickly
thrust the young millionaire from him and staggered away, breaking into
a run a moment later, and calling to his companion:

"Come on! I've had plenty!"

The other was glad enough to follow. Dick stumbled and fell, when the
men released their hold, but recovered his balance after an effort.
Grit, snarling and growling, started down the dark road after the men,
splashing through muddy puddles.

"Here, Grit! Come back!" yelled Dick. He did not want his pet shot, and
he had no doubt but that the desperate characters would use their
weapons on the valuable animal.

Breathing hard from his struggle the lad darted forward. The cool rain
soon revived him sufficiently, so that his strength, which had been
well-nigh spent in the contest, came back to him, and he was racing with
all his speed through the storm and darkness. He wanted to see who the
men were--to fathom the reason for their attack on him.

"Here, Grit! Grit!" he called. "Come back!"

The dog barked a protest, for he wanted to finish the work he had begun.

"Come back, Grit!" cried Dick again, and the dog knew there was no
disobeying that voice. With a menacing growl he turned and leaped
joyously about his young master, now and then glancing in the direction
which the men had taken, and sending a challenging bark toward them in
the darkness.

"No use chasing them," murmured Dick, as he bent over to pat Grit, and
felt to see if the dog had been injured. There seemed to be no cuts on
him. The animal had been too quick for the men.

As for the youth he had been roughly handled, and his neck and arms were
strained and bruised, while his clothing was disarranged. But he had
suffered no harm, and a hasty search through his pockets convinced him
that neither his watch nor money had been taken.

"Well, that's the first time hold-up men ever tackled me," murmured the
young millionaire, as he walked back to the scene of the struggle, and
picked up his umbrella. "I didn't know members of that profession cared
to come to Hamilton Corners. I guess I'd better notify the police. It
might be dangerous for other people, to have such scoundrels about."

Keeping a sharp lookout, lest the men return, but feeling pretty sure
that they had had enough, Dick turned into a better-lighted street, and,
going to the house of an acquaintance nearby, he called up the police
station, and reported through the telephone his experience.

There was much wondering and excitement at headquarters, and the chief
promised to send several officers to the scene of the outrage at once.
Dick met them, but the search that resulted amounted to nothing. The men
had disappeared, and even in daylight to hunt for them would have been
difficult, to say nothing of a chase in the storm and darkness. The
chief promised to have his men keep their eyes open the rest of that
night, and the next day, for any suspicious characters, but none was
seen.

Dick's friends, from whose house he had telephoned, wanted to hitch up
the horse and drive him home, but he said he was so wet that a little
more water would not hurt him.

Accordingly he walked, one of the few policemen of Hamilton Corners
insisting on accompanying the lad. Dick said it wasn't necessary, as
long as he had Grit with him, but the chief of police was taking no
chances with the millionaire's son.

Of course, there was plenty of excitement when Dick reached his father's
house, and told Mr. Hamilton, and the boys there, what had detained him.

"You certainly had a narrow escape!" said Mr. Hamilton, seriously. "Do
you think they meant to rob you, Dick?"

"What else would they have attacked me for? Of course, it must have been
that. But Grit and I were too quick for them."

"Could you see their faces?" asked Paul Drew.

"No, it was too dark."

"Then, you couldn't tell whether or not they were the same men you met
before in New York, and who got you on board their yacht?" asked Henry
Darby, for the wealthy youth had told of his experience on the
_Princess_.

"No--I don't believe they were the same fellows," replied Dick, slowly.
"They were ordinary highwaymen," but, though he said nothing about it,
he was puzzled over a remark one of the men had made while holding him.
It was when the footpad said:

"We've got him! Where's the rig?"

"Rig--that is, horse and carriage," murmured Dick to himself. "I wonder
why highwaymen wanted a rig? Unless," he added slowly, "they had an idea
of carrying me off. But that's nonsense. Maybe I misunderstood them."
But the more he thought about it and puzzled over it, the more it
worried him, until he put the matter out of his mind and devoted his
time to getting ready for the yachting trip.

No further trace was found of the footpads next day, and, though the
Hamilton Corners police made inquiries in nearby towns, no suspicious
characters were reported as being about.

Mr. Hamilton was worried, and considered a scheme of having a private
detective guard his son, for he knew that many unscrupulous scoundrels
had designs on wealthy lads. But Dick called the plan off.

"I'll soon be at sea, dad," he said, "and I guess with Grit on board,
and the fellows I'm going to take along we can stand off a small army of
hold-up men."

"All right," agreed the millionaire, "but I'll feel easier when you are
out of sight of land."

Dick had a telegram from Captain Barton, saying that the _Albatross_ was
only waiting the command to hoist anchor and start, and on the receipt
of this the lad decided they would leave for New York the next day, as
he had been delayed getting his outfit together, and Henry Darby wanted
to close an important transaction in old iron before he went away.

As Dick, Frank Bender, Paul Drew and Henry Darby were being driven down
to the depot in Dick's auto, to take a train for the metropolis, two
lads, standing on a street corner, observed the happy quartette.

"There they go," observed Guy Fletcher, a town lad whose father was
quite well off. "There they go, and I wish I was going off on a trip
like that myself."

"Not with Dick Hamilton," added Simon Scardale, who was Guy's crony. The
two lads had no friendly feelings toward the young millionaire, and,
indeed, Simon had once tried to make Dick lose considerable money. "Dick
Hamilton hasn't much use for us, nor we for him, Guy. I wouldn't care if
his yacht sunk at sea."

"I don't know's I would, either, though I wouldn't want any one to get
drowned. But, come on, and I'll shoot you a game of pool."

"Can't. I'm dead broke."

"I'll pay for it," offered Guy, as Dick's auto swung around a corner and
as the two lads, who were rather inclined to a "sporty" life, turned to
seek a pool "parlor," they were confronted by an elderly man, with a
small tuft of white whiskers on his chin, which moved up and down as he
talked.

"Was that Dick Hamilton who just passed?" asked the old man.

"Sure," replied Simon, flippantly. "Do you know him?"

"I guess I ought to, I'm his uncle," was the answer. "But I couldn't see
very good, 'cause the sun was in my eyes. Now, didn't I hear you say you
didn't care whether or not his yacht sunk."

"Oh, we were only fooling," spoke Guy, with an uneasy laugh, thinking he
was to be called to account for the remark.

"Oh, you needn't worry," returned Ezra Larabee, quickly. "I just
happened to hear what you said, and it occurred to me that perhaps you
two lads, who, I believe, are acquainted with my nephew, would like to
earn a little money easily. Would you?"

"Would we? Well, I should lose a gold tooth if we wouldn't, old sport!"
exclaimed Simon, slangily. "What's the game?"

"Suppose you come with me," answered Mr. Larabee, and he looked around
hastily to see if he was observed before leading the two ill-favored
lads down a quiet street.

Meanwhile, Dick and his friends continued on in the auto. They stopped
at the bank where Mr. Hamilton had his private office, to say good-by,
and half an hour later were speeding toward New York in a fast express.
Grit was in the baggage car, but he cried and whined so mournfully,
because he was out of Dick's sight, that his master had to go forward
from the parlor coach to pay frequent visits to his pet.

Arriving at the big city, the young millionaire piloted his friends to
the same hotel where he had stopped before, and they were assigned to a
suite of connecting rooms. Dick then sent for Tim Muldoon, the newsboy,
who shortly appeared, resplendent in a new suit, and looking quite
different than when he first came under his friend's notice, as a ragged
"fresh-air kid."

The young owner of the _Albatross_ had sent word to Captain Barton that
he was in town, and would shortly come aboard, and Dick asked that the
yacht be in readiness for putting to sea at once.

"Now," said our hero to his friends at the hotel, "I have to go see Mr.
Blake, the lawyer, and then I guess I'm done with business for a while.
I want to ask his advice about locating those Cuban relatives of my
mother."

"Guess I'd better go along with you," suggested Tim. "You might be held
up again, and I know almost every detective in New York. I could signal
to one in a jiffy for you, and we'd have bully fun arrestin' the
fellows. It'd make a corkin' story. Shall I come?"

"Oh, it's hardly necessary," objected the rich youth, but Tim insisted
on it, and went with his friend in the taxicab.

However, nothing happened, and after stating the case about the missing
relatives to the lawyer, and listening to Mr. Blake's advice, Dick put
in his pocket a letter the attorney had given him. It was addressed to
Don Ferdinand Hondora, a Havana lawyer.

"He will give you any assistance in his power, in locating the Valdez
family," said Mr. Blake, as he bade his young client good-by.

"Now, then, for the _Albatross_!" cried Dick, as he returned to the
hotel and greeted his chums.

But there was still a delay, for every one wanted to purchase several
articles, forgotten in the departing rush, and this required visits to a
number of stores. But finally, with their trunks and suit-cases well
packed, the crowd of happy lads entered a big auto which Dick hired, and
were soon at the dock, where they took a motorboat out to Dick's steam
yacht.

"Welcome on board!" cried Captain Barton, cordially, as the youthful
millionaire and his party mounted the accommodation ladder, while the
blue flag at the masthead fluttered down, indicating the presence on the
yacht of the boat's owner. "We're all ready and waiting for you, and the
tide is just on the turn." Grit had already leaped on deck, and, at a
word from his master, made friends with the commander.

"Is Widdy here?" asked Dick, looking about for a sight of the old
seaman.

"He is," replied Captain Barton, "and I've made him honorary second
mate, at your suggestion."

"Oh, yes; there he is," cried Dick, waving his hand toward the grizzled
sea dog, who stumped about near the ship's bell, as proud as the
proverbial peacock to be thus recognized by the millionaire skipper.

"Now, fellows, make yourselves right to home," invited their host.
"We're going to live here quite a while, and I hope you find everything
comfortable."

"If we don't it'll be our fault," observed Tim Muldoon, looking about
with awe, for the yacht was handsomely fitted up.

"What's the matter, Henry?" asked Dick, noting the young iron merchant
staring about him, in rather a dazed fashion.

"Oh, I was just wondering how much old scrap iron I'd have to sell to
buy a boat like this," was the answer, and Dick laughed.

The anchor was hoisted to the musical clank-clank of the winches. The
accommodation ladder was slung up alongside, and with a hoarse blast
from her whistle the _Albatross_ slowly swung around with the outgoing
tide. From her funnel there poured black smoke, and from the steam pipe
there spouted a jet of white vapor. Under her stern the water was
churned to foam, and a white "bone" appeared at her sharp bow.

"We're off!" cried the young captain, gaily.

"Three cheers for Skipper Hamilton and his steam yacht!" yelled Paul
Drew.

"Cut it out!" ordered Dick, turning red. "You can cheer the boat, but
not me."

But his companions did not heed, and sent out their ringing cries.
Commanders on other vessels nearby heard, and, thinking a gay party was
starting off on a cruise, saluted the _Albatross_ with the regulation
three blasts of their whistles, to which Captain Barton responded, so
that the progress down the bay was somewhat in the nature of an ovation,
as other craft, following suit, also rendered homage.

Down through the Narrows steamed the fine yacht, gathering speed; out
past Forts Wadsworth and Lafayette, threading her way along the buoyed
channel, passing Coney Island on the left, swinging out more to sea as
Atlantic Highlands was sighted, and then, pushing across the nose of
Sandy Hook, the _Albatross_ flew on toward the deep ocean.

"We're off!" cried Dick again, as he leaned over the rail and watched
the blue water. "Off for Cuba, and all sorts of adventures, fellows."

There were more adventures in store for the young millionaire and his
chums than they ever imagined.

CHAPTER X

UNCLE EZRA'S OFFER

Simon Scardale and Guy Fletcher had heard something of Dick's Uncle
Ezra. They knew of his dislike for spending money, and they were not a
little surprised, therefore, when he led them toward a restaurant,
shortly after the young millionaire had gone to the depot in his auto.

"I believe he's going to treat us to a dinner," remarked Simon, in a low
voice to his companion.

"Don't be too sure," was the guarded response. "He's one of those
fellows who squeeze a dollar so hard that he gets enough feathers off
the eagle to make a sofa cushion."

"Well, boys," remarked Mr. Larabee, as he paused in front of the eating
place, "I got up early this morning, to take the first train here from
Dankville, and I didn't eat much breakfast. So I think I'll go in here
for a cup of coffee. You wait outside, and when I get through I guess I
can put you in the way of making a few dollars."

"Do you want us to wait _outside_?" asked Simon, suggestively.

"Yes; why not? You had your breakfast; ain't you?"

"We also ate early," spoke Guy, with a grin at his companion; "didn't
we, Simon?"

"Sure," answered the other. "Besides, if Mr. Larabee has anything to say
to us it's more private in the restaurant than out in the street. Some
one might see us here."

Uncle Ezra made a wry face. He had outlined a certain plan of procedure
for himself, along the lines of what he considered was his duty, and he
had made up his mind that it would cost him some money. Yet, when the
time came to begin spending, he was averse to it. But he did not see how
he could get out of it.

"It's bad to eat in between meals," he remarked, still pausing on the
threshold of the restaurant. "I wouldn't do it myself, only I'm quite
hungry."

"So are we," said Guy boldly, and he added: "If you want us to play any
game on Dick Hamilton, you've got to pay us well for it. He doesn't like
us, and he wouldn't hesitate to do us some harm. So if you want us to
help you----"

"Hush!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, nervously looking around, and taking a
tighter grip of his purse. "Some one might hear you. Come on in, but,
mind you, I'm not going to pay for a whole breakfast for you boys. A cup
of coffee, and a sandwich, is all you can have. I'm only going to take
coffee, and very weak at that. Maybe I can get a weak cup for three
cents. They charge awful for coffee in some of these places."

The boys had gained their point, however, which was to be invited inside
the restaurant, and soon the three were seated at a table in a secluded
corner of the room.

"A cup of weak coffee," ordered Mr. Larabee, as the waitress came to the
table.

"Strong coffee and griddle cakes to start with, and then ham and eggs,"
ordered Simon.

"I'll take the same," spoke Guy.

Mr. Larabee turned pale and cried out:

"Here! Hold on! I thought you boys were going to----"

"I guess, Guy, we'd better be going," interrupted Simon, gravely, as he
got up and reached for his hat. "Mr. Larabee doesn't want to do business
with us."

"Yes, I do. Sit down!" cried the miserly old man. "Oh, dear! boys have
such terrible appetites. You may bring me a very small cup of weak
coffee," he said to the waitress, who seemed amused at something.

"It's all the same price," she stated.

"What? Haven't you any cheap cups--any at half price?"

"No."

Uncle Ezra groaned, and, while he sipped his beverage, he kept a
watchful eye on the well-filled plates of Simon and Guy. They were doing
hearty justice to the meal they ordered.

"Pretty good cakes they have here; eh, Guy?" mumbled Simon, pouring
some maple syrup over the last brown one on his plate.

"Fine! yes," agreed his crony.

"What do you say to another helping before we tackle the ham and eggs?"

"I don't mind."

Simon raised his finger to summon the waitress. "We'll have some more
cakes," he ordered grandly, "and be sure to have the ham and eggs kept
hot. Two more plates of cakes."

"No--no!" gasped Uncle Ezra, almost over-turning his cup of coffee.

"Do you want three plates?" asked the girl, turning to him.

"I--er--no--of course, not," stammered the old man. "I never eat 'em.
They give me indigestion, and then I have to pay a doctor's bill. I was
just going to say----"

He looked appealingly from Guy to Simon and from Simon to Guy. The lads
winked at each other.

"Queer what an appetite I've got," murmured Simon. "I didn't know I was
so hungry."

"Me either," added Guy. "Do you think another plate of cakes will be
enough?"

"Well, I don't know----"

"It's all you'll git!" snapped Uncle Ezra, quickly. "Do you think I'm
going to pay--I mean you'll have indigestion something terrible," he
finished, for he saw that the pretty waitress was looking sharply at
him.

"Oh, well, I guess with one more stack of the buckwheats and with the
ham and eggs and another cup of coffee we can make out," conceded Simon,
and the second plates of cakes were brought.

Uncle Ezra sat in gloomy silence during the remainder of the meal. Simon
and Guy ate the last of the ham and eggs, and drained their coffee cups.

"I _would_ like a cigar," began Simon, in a reflective sort of tone.

"Then, you'll buy it yourself," fairly growled Mr. Larabee. "Boys
shouldn't smoke, nor men neither. Now, if you've finished, and the land
knows you've eaten enough for two days, we'll talk business. I have some
work I think you can do for me, but it must be kept quiet. I'll pay this
bill, though probably it'll be terrible high, and then we can go to some
private room. Is there a secluded room here?" the old man asked the
waitress.

"Yes," she assented, as she handed Mr. Larabee a slip with the amount of
the charge on it.

"As much as that?" he gasped. "Can't you make it a little less?"

"Those are the regular prices," she answered with scornfully curling
lip, as she handed him the bill of fare. He scanned it carefully through
his spectacles, and, finding that the waitress was right, slowly
counted out the change. He wanted the girl to accept, with the other
money, a quarter with a hole in it, which piece he had vainly tried to
pass several times before, but without success. She took it to the
proprietor, who offered to accept it at fifteen cents.

"No, I won't take less than twenty-three for it," said Uncle Ezra. "It's
a very small hole," and he put the quarter back in his pocket, to save
for a future occasion.

Carefully closing the door of the private room, to which the waitress
showed him, Mr. Larabee had a long talk with Guy and Simon. That there
were differences of opinion was evident from the loud voices which came
from the apartment at times. Finally the old man was heard to say:

"Well, that's my offer; take it or leave it."

"It's very small pay, considering the risk we run, and counting that the
boat might sink in a storm," said Guy.

"Hush!" begged Mr. Larabee, "not so loud! Some one might hear you. Will
you do the work, or not? I only want you to help the two men I've
engaged."

"Guess we might as well," assented Simon. "It will be a good trip for
us. And you want us to help get Dick----"

"Will you be quiet?" pleaded Mr. Larabee. "Now it's settled, and you can
meet me in New York, say, in two days."

"Then leave us the money for our railroad fares," demanded Guy, and
with many a wry face, and after some hesitation, Uncle Ezra took out his
wallet, removed a leather strap and several wrappings of cord from
around it, and counted out some bills. With crafty smiles on their
unpleasant faces, Guy and Simon pocketed the cash.

"Now, Dick Hamilton can look out for himself," said Guy, as the three
left the room. "I'll get even for the way he once treated me."

"So will I," added Simon. "Only I hope Grit, his dog, isn't around when
the thing comes off."

CHAPTER XI

PLUM DUFF OVERBOARD

Remaining on deck until the yacht was well on her way down the Jersey
coast, Dick and his chums at length decided that they would go below and
arrange their belongings in their staterooms. Captain Barton turned the
wheel over to Ted Midwell, the first mate, who, with old Widdy, and his
short pipe to keep him company, would navigate the _Albatross_ until the
commander returned on deck. Mr. Barton wanted to have a talk with Dick,
to arrange certain details, and then pick out the two watches who would,
in turn, have charge of the vessel.

"Isn't this slick, though!" exclaimed Tim Muldoon, as he gazed about
below decks, and inspected the stateroom assigned to him. "It's great to
be a millionaire!"

"Yes, it's lots of fun when you can have a boat like this," admitted
Dick, "but----" He did not complete the sentence. He was thinking of the
men who had attacked him in the dark, and those who had lured him to the
other yacht. "A millionaire's life is not all roses."

Captain Barton showed the boys how to stow away their belongings to the
best advantage. Dick's things had been put in the owner's cabin, which
consisted of a large stateroom, a little parlor and a private bath.

"Oh, say, this is too gorgeous for me," objected the young millionaire.
"I want a room like the other fellows."

"No, you stay here," advised Paul. "Don't you s'pose we want to put on
some style when we have visitors? As soon as you come on board, down
comes the blue burgee, to show you're ready for company, and then we
chaps will escort 'em down below here, chuck a big bluff, and you can
serve 'em with cocoa and cakes, or whatever other form of stuff they are
addicted to."

"It sounds good," admitted Dick, with a laugh, and he was finally
prevailed upon to occupy the rooms designed for the owner. Captain
Barton had a good-sized stateroom near Dick's, and the other boys were
provided with comfortable quarters adjoining, so they were all together.
Grit was given a kennel on deck, but he knew the freedom of the yacht
was his, and he poked his nose into every corner, from the engine room
to the chart house.

Their trunks were put away, after their clothes had been taken out, and
the boys arranged their rooms, donned suits in keeping with their
characters as sailors, and then were ready to go again on deck. That is
all but Dick and the captain, who wanted to have a talk.

"What's the matter, Henry?" asked the millionaire's son, as he saw the
young iron merchant standing irresolutely in front of his stateroom.

"I don't know, but I can't seem to get used to it," was the reply.
"Seems as if I'd ought to be hitching up, to go out and get a load of
junk, or see a man about buying some, or else I ought to feed my horse,
so his ribs won't stick together."

"Drop all that," commanded Dick, with a laugh. "You're out for pleasure
now, and I want you to enjoy yourself. Get up on deck and watch the
waves. Maybe you'll sight a wreck, and can get a lot of old iron out of
it."

"Maybe," assented Henry, chuckling, but it gave him something to think
about, and he hurried up the companionway with the others.

Dick and the captain discussed various details of the voyage. As the
youthful owner was in no hurry, it was agreed not to crowd on any speed,
but to proceed leisurely along, stopping at Savannah to see if Innis
Beeby would join them, and then going on down the coast to Cuba. They
would land at Havana, and from there Dick would begin to make inquiries
concerning his mother's distant relatives. After that their program was
not made out, but the young millionaire wanted to cruise about between
Florida and Cuba, stopping at some of the many Florida keys, and,
perhaps, spending a few days camping on one.

Captain Barton submitted to Dick a schedule of the management of the
yacht, how he proposed dividing the crew into watches, and other matters
which the lad, as owner, must sanction.

"I leave it all to you," said Dick. "We're out for a good time, and
we're going to have it. I guess we'd all like it if we could help
navigate some."

"Of course, you may," agreed the captain. "I'll be glad to teach you
boys the rudiments of it, for it will be useful in case of trouble.
Well, now that's settled, I think I'll go on deck and take the noon
observation."

"And I'll watch you," said Dick, "for that's a good thing to know how to
do. Another matter, Captain Barton, let the crew have plenty of good
stuff to eat. I've read how sailors weren't treated any too well, and
I'd like those on this boat to have the best."

"They'll get it," was the answer, with a laugh. "Your lawyer, Mr. Blake,
said your father had written to him on that point, and the stores we
took aboard can't be beat, even on an ocean liner. The crew will live
higher than they have on many a voyage before this."

"I'm glad of it," and then Dick followed the captain on deck, while the
other lads gathered about them to witness the taking of the noon
observation.

The _Albatross_ fairly flew along the blue sea, putting knot after knot
behind her, leaving New York and Hamilton Corners farther and farther
astern, and slowly forging toward Cuba, where, had Dick but known it, a
curious and trying experience awaited him.

"Let's get Widdy to tell us a sailor's yarn," proposed Frank Bender,
toward the close of that afternoon, when the lads had inspected every
part of the ship, from the engine room to the chart house, and had even
climbed part way up the shrouds.

"Fine!" cried Dick. "Widdy knows some good sea stories," and they
gathered about the sailor who sat on a coil of rope, smoking.

"An' so," concluded the old salt, at the finish of his story, as he
loaded his short, and rapidly blackening pipe, with some very dark
tobacco, "an' so we was rescued an' taken aboard, an' the first thing my
messmate, Marlinspike Ned, called for was plum duff, an' what's more, he
got it."

"What's plum duff?" asked Paul Drew.

"It's a sailor's plum pudding," volunteered Dick, who had read many sea
tales.

"Right," assented Widdy, "only it's better."

"I think I could make some," said the wealthy lad, who was not a little
proud of his cooking abilities, and who had often shown his culinary
skill when in camp.

"Ah, my boy!" exclaimed the old sailor, "plum duff ain't what it used to
be. It ain't got the same flavor, split my lee scuppers if it has!"

"I'm sure I could make some that would have," declared Dick. "I'm going
to try, too. Do you think the crew would like some?"

"Dash my belayin' pin, but they would!" exclaimed Widdy.

"That settles it!" cried the young yacht owner. "I'll make a lot, and
we'll have some aft, too, fellows."

"Not any for mine, thank you," said Frank Bender, hastily, moving off to
try a new acrobatic stunt he had been practising.

"Why not?" asked Dick, somewhat indignantly.

"I don't believe you know the difference between plum duff and sea
biscuit," was Frank's answer, and he dodged behind a deck chair, to be
safe, in case Dick threw anything at him.

"You'll see," was the yacht owner's comment, as he moved toward the
galley, where a fat German cook, Hans Weyler, presided.

Dick's chums wanted to see him at work, but he shut himself in with the
cook, and soon curious sounds proceeded from the galley. There was the
rattle of pots and pans, and an occasional deep-voiced German
exclamation, followed by Dick's calm words.

"_Ach himmel!_ Vy you do it dot way?" cried the cook, so that he could
be heard from one end of the yacht to the other.

"Because that's the right way," answered Dick.

"But, oxcuse me, Herr Hamilton, dot stuff should boiled be, und you haf
roasted it on der oven alretty yet."

"Sure, I'm baking it. That's the proper way to do it. I'll steam it
afterward."

"_Ach!_ Vot a foolishness vaste of der good t'ings," was the cook's
despairing remark.

"Fellows, there's going to be some fun before this plum duff is made,"
prophesied Paul Drew.

"It sure looks that way," agreed Frank, as he balanced himself on his
hands and head on a coil of rope.

Dick was in and out of the galley several times. On each occasion he
seemed to have accumulated a little more flour on his clothes or face.
Finally, after more than an hour's work, he announced triumphantly:

"Now, fellows, it's done, and I want old Widdy to have the first sniff
of it. He said I couldn't make one, and I want to show him that I can.
Ask him to step here, Tim."