A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy

"Yours will heal rapidly," he said to the tool manufacturer. "But your right arm will never be as good as it was. That workman may recover, but it will take months."

The sun was just rising when Jack, after a breakfast that Farmer Farrell's wife had compelled him to eat, took the boat and rowed over to Blackbird Island.

Deb saw him coming and rushed out of the cottage to meet him.

"Oh, Jack, such a time as we've had!" she sobbed. "The doctor is here, and that Pooler just died."

"Pooler dead?" ejaculated the young machinist, in amazement.

He entered the back room. The doctor and Meg were there, the girl's eyes swollen from crying.

"Where is Mont?" he asked.

Meg pointed to the other door.

"He's in there too," she said, in a quivering voice.

Jack entered the front chamber. Max Pooler's body lay on the cot, covered with a white sheet. Beside it, on a low stool, with his face buried in his hands, sat Mont.

The young man's countenance was full of emotion. He took the young machinist's hand in his own, and pulled the covering from the dead face before them.

"Listen, Jack," he said in a low voice, "I want to tell you an awful secret. Before this man died, he confessed that he murdered my father. He was very penitent, and he-he asked me to forgive him."

"And you-" began Jack.

"I did forgive him. It was hard, but how could I refuse a dying man?"

"You did right," returned the young machinist. "But, oh, Mont, I'm so sorry for you! Did he tell you how it came about?"

"Yes. He used to be my father's clerk, and avarice led him to steal. By some means he imagined my father knew of his doings, and was about to have him arrested. Half crazed by this fear, he went on board my father's yacht one night and cast her adrift while my father was sleeping in the stateroom. The yacht went over the falls, and turned up where we found her."

"And your father?"

"Was found dead in the cabin. He said my uncle suspected him, but as Mr. Felix Gray was trying to rob me of my share of the tool works property, he turned the tables, and threatened not only to expose him, but to implicate him in the murder as well. My uncle has been paying him money for years to keep him quiet, but part of this went to Mosey and Corrigan as 'hush money,' so Pooler said.

"It's a strange story," mused Jack.

"But that isn't all," continued Mont. "Before he died Pooler proved to me that about one-half of his treasure belonged really to you."

"To me!" ejaculated the young machinist, in utter astonishment.

Mont nodded.

"Yes, to you," he said. "Pooler said my father held it in trust for your father, who was not a good hand at investing money. The amounts were the proceeds of several valuable inventions."

"Then we are both rich," returned Jack, with a broad smile. "I am glad of it, for Deb's sake!" he added, brightly.

A little later the young machinist related what had happened on the river road the night before.

"And now we'll have the whole affair straightened out," he concluded. "I believe your uncle has had all the ups and downs he cares for, and will let you have your own without much opposition."

"I trust so," replied Mont. "I do not care, as I said before, to make the thing public, but it has gone far enough, and both of us must have our rights."

"And then I must get the fire and the model matters squared up and go to work on a bigger scale," added Jack. "I declare I've had adventures enough in the past four days to last me a lifetime!"

Five years have passed since the above words were spoken. Mont is now the sole owner of the Corney Tool Works, and the Mechanics' Savings Bank is once again a flourishing institution. Mr. Felix Gray has relinquished all rights to both, and is content to pass the remainder of his days in helping his nephew along the road to fortune.

Mosey recovered, and is now a steady workman. He has signed the pledge, and intends to stick to it. Corrigan was never heard of after his jump from the wagon, and no one has ever taken the trouble to find out what became of him.

Jack is now superintendent at the tool works, and besides his salary, draws a handsome royalty from his father's and his own inventions. Through Mr. Benton-who was profuse in his offers of help when he learned the true state of affairs-the patent of the improved planer was sold for four thousand dollars, of which half came to the young machinist.

Deb-Jack's best girl-is now Mrs. Monterey Gray, and though she lives in one of the finest mansions of the town, is still the true and faithful little housekeeper she always was. Meg, upon whom Mont has settled a neat sum, lives with her, and Miss Parks is a frequent and welcome visitor at the place.

A few weeks ago, while visiting at Corney, I met Deb driving out to Farmer Farrell's place, and asked her how her brother was getting on.

"Jack? Why, I declare you'd hardly know him, he's so awfully tall! And he's got a beard all over his face. Business is splendid, but then Jack always said that any one who did right, and stuck to his work, would get along!"

And Deb is right. Do you not think so, gentle reader?