# The Boys of Bellwood School/Chapter 8
#### CHAPTER VIII
##### NIPPED IN THE BUD

Frank had traveled some in his young career, had read considerable, and had thought a good deal. The talk of the melancholy man in the white choker had led up to a point where Frank felt pretty sure he was up to some trick or other. While pretending to be interested in the newspaper he had read over and over, our hero kept eyes and ears wide open.
The stranger talked of things in general now. He asked the farmer concerning his crops, and particularly about the wife who must be a distant relative of his. Finally he observed:
"It's a pretty bad prospect for the family of my dead brother."
"How's that, neighbor?" asked the farmer.
"Left them without much of anything—that is, in the way of ready money. In fact, I must bear all the burden of the funeral expenses. I'm short myself, and it's going to cramp me to get hold of ​ready cash, I've got to make something of a sacrifice, and it's worrying me."
"Hope you don't have to sacrifice your homestead, or anything like that," observed the farmer sympathetically.
"I won't, just the same," declared the stranger with some force. "I promised my father I'd never let the old home go."
"That's the right sentiment, friend."
"I was offered ten thousand for it, and refused it. Then fifteen thousand—I would not listen to it. I may have to borrow on it, but it will be a small amount. I'm trying to avoid even that. Let me show you something. See those documents?" and the speaker showed a neat little package of papers secured with a rubber band. He selected the outside one and spread it open. It was a certificate of stock, printed in green and red on fine parchment paper. Its blanks were filled in with writing in great flourishes, and there was an immense gold seal in one corner.
"What's that, now?" inquired the farmer with bulging eyes. "Government bond?"
"Better than a government bond, my friend," assured the stranger. "A government bond brings a man only four per cent. a year. This stock paid me ten per cent. in January, twenty per cent. in ​March, and I was offered double its face value last week."
"A hundred dollars," said the farmer musingly, noting the handsome medallion figure at the top of the stock certificate.
"Yes, and worth two hundred, as I tell you. I wouldn't sell it at any price, but I'm short of ready cash, and I'll pay eight per cent. interest and give the next dividend as a bonus, for a loan of seventy-five dollars for thirty days. I'm proud and particular about my business, and I dislike to ask my friends for the loan."
"Say," observed the farmer, dazzled at the sight of the pretty document, "you mean you'll give all that security and interest for a loan of seventy-five dollars?"
"To an honest man who won't run away with the security, yes."
"I can show you letters telling you who I am," declared the farmer, perking up with pride. "Straight business with me, neighbor. I reckon I can dig up seventy-five dollars on any occasion."
"Look over the certificate, friend. You'll find the signatures all right. D. Burlingame Gould, president—you've heard of the Goulds?"
"In the paper, certainly."
"He's one of them. Robert Winstanley Astorbilt, secretary, prominent New York banker. ​Excuse me, I've got to get a drink of water. You won't find better security in this country than a share of stock of the Little Wonder Bonanza Mining & Milling Company of Montana."
"Hello!" said Frank to himself with a start. "The Little Wonder—why, where did I see that name? I've got it! There's an item in the very newspaper I've been reading about it."
The stranger had proceeded to the water tank. He purposely left the farmer dazzled with his proposition to think over it. The latter sat in a sort of trance of avarice, staring at the enticing stock certificate.
A plan to confuse and outwit the swindler occurred to our hero. He was intent on locating the brief item he remembered having seen in the newspaper. He wanted to act on his plan before the stranger returned. Frank's eye ran over column after column, page after page.
"Got it," he breathed at last, and neatly tore out of place an item near the bottom of a page. It told of a swindle astoundingly perpetrated by a gang of confidence men in the city where the paper was published. The scheme was to induce greenhorns to invest in or loan money on mining stock of some companies that had no existence except on paper. The Little Wonder Bonanza ​Mining & Milling Company of Arizona headed the list of the worthless concerns.
"Quick—before the man comes back, read that," said Frank, leaning over the seat in front of hinu and placing the clipping in the hands of the former.
"Hey! What——"
"And then give it to him to read," added Frank with a chuckle.
"Hemlock and asparagus!" ejaculated the farmer as his glance ran over the item. "A bunko man, eh? And I was nearly gulled!"
"Well, friend," spoke the swindler suavely, returning down the aisle, "how about that little loan? You'll have to decide quick, for this is my station they're coming to."
"I see 'tis," responded the farmer, arising with a grim face that should have warned the man, who had taken him for an easy victim. "Say, you measly, flaggerbusted scrub, read that!"
The farmer did not wait to have the swindler read the newspaper item. He only thrust it near enough to his discomfited face to allow the fellow to get an inkling of its meaning. Then his sinewy hand closed on the collar of the swindler's coat.
The train was slowing up just then, and a brakeman threw open the door of the coach with the announcement:
"Jayville!"
​"I'm going to introduce you to the town," grinned the farmer. "Bolt, you varmint!"
He ran the fellow down the car, the other passengers arising from their scats in excitement. Straight through the open doorway he rushed the swindler, and out upon the platform. Arrived there, the farmer changed his mind. The depot was about two hundred feet ahead. Just where the coach was running was a deep ditch.
Frank saw the stalwart farmer lift his prisoner bodily, he heard a yell and then a splash, and saw the baffled swindler land waist-deep in the ditch, deluged, silk hat, white choker and dress coat, in a cascade of murky mud.
"My wife's cousin, the banker, and his friend, the mayor of the town, can help him out of that fix if they want to," chuckled the farmer, coming back into the car and rubbing his hands as if to wash the dirt from them.