He dreamed that night that he went to his uncle's house in an airship,
and when they got there it turned into a vault in a cemetery and he was
made a prisoner in it. He awoke with a start to find his uncle calling
to him from the hall outside his door.

"Come, Nephew Richard," said Mr. Larabee. "It's six o'clock, and you'll
have to get up early when you're at my house. Might as well begin now."

"Oh, this is a beautiful birthday," said Dick, with a groan, as he began
to dress. "Six o'clock! Ugh!"

It was arranged that they were to take an early train to Dankville, and,
soon after breakfast, Dick, having packed his suitcase, and arranged to
have his trunk forwarded to him at The Firs, went to the library where
his father and uncle were waiting for him.

"Well, Dick," remarked Mr. Hamilton, with a little catch in his voice,
for he hated to part with his son, though he knew the experience might
be good for him. "I guess it's time to say good-bye."

"I suppose so," replied Dick, trying to keep back the tears, which, in
spite of all he could do, would come to his eyes.

"Yes, we must be going," agreed Mr. Larabee. "I'll write to you,
Mortimer, and let you know how Dick gets along. I have no doubt but I'll
make a fine man of him. Too much wealth is bad for a young man. Come
along, Nephew Richard."

Dick started to leave the room. At that instant the doorbell rang and
Gibbs, answering it, came into the library and announced:

"Mr. Henry Darby and his son, to see Mr. Dick."

"I guess they have come to say good-bye," said the millionaire's son.
"Show them in, Gibbs."

"Hank" Darby did not need any "showing." He was in the library as Gibbs
turned to go back to the door.

"Excuse this intrusion," he began, "but I am in a hurry. I have a very
important scheme on and I must attend to it at once. But my son insisted
that we come and tell Mr. Dick what has happened, he being a partner in
our enterprise--The International and Consolidated Old Metal
Corporation."

"Yes, Dick!" cried Henry, unable to wait for his father to tell the news
in his slow, pompous way. "Things are in fine shape. In fact the old
metal business can now pay a dividend."

"A dividend?"

"Yes, you remember me telling you about a lot of old scrap-iron and
steel dad bought, thinking it had platinum in it?"

"Yes, and it didn't have any in."

"Merely an error in judgment," murmured Mr. Darby. "Any business man,
with large schemes on hand, is lia