"Business!" he exclaimed. "Wa'al, of course that's a good thing if Nephew Richard profits by what he hears. I hope he does. But I've lost considerable sleep over that pesky dog. I wish you'd attend to him."
"I will!" exclaimed Dick, hurrying out to the stable. "I guess Grit hasn't done much sleeping, either," he murmured, "not while he knew Uncle Ezra was in the house, anyhow. I don't see why he has to be so mean--Uncle Ezra, I'm thinking of," went on Dick, reflectively. "I suppose it comes natural, but it isn't very pleasant.
"There's that Mr. Wardell--he's practically ruined him, just on account of a greed for money, when he's already got more than he knows what to do with. Well, I'm going to help that young fellow if I can--I'm going to try to help him get back his fortune. I know how I'd feel if I lost mine--especially by some trick like this.
"Yes, I'll get in touch with him, and see if we can't beat Uncle Ezra at his own game. Come on, Grit," he went on, speaking to the dog, who vainly tried to break his chain the quicker to get near Dick. "You've got to go into exile for the rest of the night, anyhow, all on account of Uncle Ezra. I'm sorry, but it has to be, old man."
Caressing his dog, Dick took him to a distant tool house in the garden, far enough off so that should Grit bark or whine Mr. Larabee would not hear him. The dog whimpered a bit when Dick went away, but soon accustomed himself to the new situation.
"To-morrow I'll write to Mr. Wardell," decided Dick, as he rejoined his father, Mr. Larabee having gone back to his room. Mr. Hamilton approved of this plan, and Dick went to bed to dream of saving the fortune of an unfortunate man, and shooting across country in his big touring car.
"I'll sort of combine business with pleasure," remarked the youth next morning, as he arose and recalled his dream.
The letter to Mr. Wardell having been written, Dick and his two chums took the new car out for a spin. Mr. Hamilton consented to be driven to the railroad depot in it, as he had to go to a distant city on some business. Mr. Larabee, who was going back to Dankville, much to the satisfaction of Dick, refused an invitation to try out the _Last Word_.
"Trust myself in that? Never!" he exclaimed. "I'd as soon think of riding on a fire engine. You mark my words, Nephew Richard, you'll come to grief in that car yet. It's too big and heavy."
