Hamilton Dart wrote out a receipt for a hundred dollars, and signed his name with a flourish. He pa.s.sed it to Nat, and the boy handed him the hundred-dollar bill.

"You don't believe in carrying small bills," said the man, with an a.s.sumed smile.

"That is the only big bill I ever owned," was the answer.

Hamilton Dart pocketed the bill, and looked out of the window as if in deep thought.

"I was thinking you might go to work to-day, but perhaps it will be as well to go to work to-morrow," he said, after a pause. "Come at nine o'clock sharp."

"I will, sir."

"Then that is all for the present. I am sure we will get along very well together. To-morrow another clerk will be here to help you along."

Hamilton Dart turned to his desk, and began to write. Feeling himself dismissed, Nat said "good-morning," and bowed himself out. The man listened to his footsteps as he descended the stairs, and then gave a low chuckle.

"That was easy, Nick," he muttered. "Two so far. I wonder how many more fools I'll catch before the game plays out?"

CHAPTER XII

ON THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE

"Well, I've struck luck again," said Nat, when he arrived at his boarding place, and met d.i.c.k Talcott.

"Got a job?" questioned the newsboy.

"Yes."

"I hope you're going to get pretty good wages?"

"Ten dollars per week," answered Nat, with just a trace of pride in his voice.

"Ten dollars. That is luck. What at?"

"I'm in a broker's office, and I'm to do writing and sorting out bills."

"Where is the place?"

"Down on Broadway."

"I'm glad to hear of this, Nat," said the newsboy. "Wish I could strike something like that."

"Perhaps you will some day, d.i.c.k."

"The trouble is I can't write very well. I never had much schooling."

"If you wish, I'll teach you how to write. It always came easy to me."

"Will you teach me? I'll do my best to learn. We can go at it nights."

Early on the following morning, Nat presented himself at the office on Broadway. He had shined his shoes and brushed his clothes, and presented a very neat appearance. He found Hamilton Dart at his desk, and smoking as before.

"I wish you to go to the post office for me," said the man, as soon as he entered. "Go to the general delivery window and ask for letters for Samuel Barrows. That is my sick brother-in-law who is visiting me from Michigan."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course you know where the post office is?"

"Oh, yes. I've been past there several times."

"You needn't be in a hurry. Wait until they sort the eleven-o'clock mail."

"Yes, sir."

The distance to the post office was a considerable one. But Nat was a good walker, and found it was only half-past nine when he got there. To while away the time he determined to walk out on the Brooklyn Bridge and take in the sights from that elevated structure.

Making his way through the crowd on Park Row, he was soon out on the bridge, and walking in the direction of Brooklyn. There was a stiff breeze blowing, and several times his hat was almost lifted from his head.

Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a stout man running wildly after some papers which the wind was carrying along the walk on the bridge. The man secured one of the papers, but two others were fast blowing beyond his reach, when Nat rushed up and secured them just as they were on the point of being carried into the river.

"Have--you--got them?" puffed the man, as Nat came towards him.

"Yes, sir. Here you are," and Nat held out the papers.

"Good! I was afraid they were lost to me!" And the stranger heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

"Were they valuable?" asked our hero, curiously.

"Quite so. They are the legal doc.u.ments in an important real estate case now before the courts. It was very kind of you to pick them up for me."

"Oh, it wasn't so much to do," answered Nat.

"Nevertheless, I am much obliged," added the stout man, warmly. "I shouldn't have come out on the bridge with them. But I love to get the breeze. I think it does me good. Much obliged;" and then he pa.s.sed on.

"I guess he's a lawyer, or a real estate dealer," thought Nat. "Well, he ought to walk. It may take some of the fat off of him."

Nat walked half-way to Brooklyn, and then back again. Shortly after eleven o'clock he presented himself at the proper window of the post office.

"Has the eleven o'clock mail been sorted yet?" he asked.

"Certainly."

"Have you any letters for Samuel Barrows?"

The clerk looked through one of the boxes beside him.