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Haste and Waste; or, the Young Pilot of Lake Champlain, a fiction by Oliver Optic |
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Chapter 4. The Steamer "Woodville" |
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_ CHAPTER IV. THE STEAMER "WOODVILLE" Mr. Randall, now that his money was lost, declared that he had no business in Shoreham, and it was useless for him to go there. The six thousand dollars belonged to his bank, and, having an opportunity to put this sum in circulation, where it would be "kept out" for several weeks, he was making this journey to accomplish the business. He facetiously remarked that it was likely to be kept out longer than was desirable. Lawry was so sure Mr. Randall had dropped the pocketbook on the shore before he got into the ferry-boat, that he insisted upon returning to Pork Rock and having the ground searched. Though the bank director was satisfied that the pocketbook was safe in his possession when he entered the bateau, he was willing to return, since the object of his journey had been defeated, and Lawry pulled him back to the landing-place. The ground under the tree, and over which Mr. Randall had walked while waiting for the ferryman, was carefully examined, but the lost pocketbook could not be found. The bank director had very little to say after he left the ferry-boat; but he was very thoughtful, as a man who had lost six thousand dollars might reasonably be. After the search on shore was completed, he walked off toward the village without mentioning his intentions, but he looked as though he purposed to do something. "What's the matter, Lawry?" asked Mrs. Wilford, who had been watching the movements of Mr. Randall and her son from the window, as she came out of the house. "The gentleman has lost his money--six thousand dollars," replied Lawry. "Lost it!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilford, recalling the conversation with her husband at dinner. "His coat fell overboard, and the pocketbook dropped out." "Fell into the lake," added she, with a feeling of relief. "Yes; father swam out and got the coat, but the money was gone." Mrs. Wilford returned to the house. Perhaps she had some misgivings, and felt more than before that those who make haste to be rich are often ruined; but she said nothing. Lawry was perplexed at the disappearance of the money. Mr. Randall had proved that a pocketbook with nothing but paper in it would not sink within a reasonable time. If the lost treasure had fallen into the water, he would certainly have found it. If it had been dropped on shore or in the ferry-boat, it would not have disappeared so strangely. Lawry was so positive that the pocketbook was still in the ferry-boat, or on the shore, that he renewed the search, and carefully scrutinized every foot of ground between the house and the landing-place, but with no better success than before. By this time the ferry-boat, which had been favored by a good wind during the last half-hour, returned. "What do you suppose became of that pocketbook, father?" asked Lawry, as he stepped into the boat. "I don't know. I don't believe he lost any pocketbook," replied John Wilford. "He says he did, and I saw it myself." "Perhaps you did, but I don't believe there was any six thousand dollars in it. If there had been, he wouldn't have thrown it about as he did." "He says there was six thousand dollars in the pocketbook." "I don't believe it. It's a likely story that a man would throw down his coat, with all that money in the pocket, on the drop. In my opinion it's some trick to cheat his creditors out of their just due." "It don't seem possible." "That's the truth, you may depend upon it. That's the way men make money." Lawry was by no means satisfied with this explanation. He went into the boat, and carefully searched every part of it. His father watched him with considerable interest, declaring that it was useless to look for what had not been lost. "You had better go up and see Mr. Sherwood now," said Mr. Wilford. "I have been up, and he was not at home." "You better go again, then." "He has gone to Port Henry after the new steamer." "Has he got a pilot?" "Not that I know of." "He can't get one at Port Henry," said the ferryman. "I suppose he is going to pilot her himself." "He will pilot her on the rocks, then. He don't know anything about Lake Champlain. Why don't you row up the lake till you meet the boat?" "I was thinking of doing so, but I can't keep this money out of my mind." "Why need you trouble yourself about that?" demanded the father impatiently. "It was lost in your boat, and I am very anxious that it should be found. I'm sure Mr. Randall thinks you've got it." "Well, he searched me, and found out that I hadn't got it--didn't he?" added Mr. Wilford, with a sickly smile. "I don't like to have you suspected of such a thing, and for that reason I want to find the money." "You can't find it, and I tell you he hasn't lost any money. He's going to cheat the bank or his creditors out of six thousand dollars." "I don't believe he would do such a thing as that." "We have looked everywhere for the money, and it can't be found. It's no use to bother any more about the matter. It's gone, and that's the end of it--if he lost it at all. You have looked all over the ferry-boat, and it isn't there. If it had been floating in the lake, you couldn't help seeing it. Now, you better take your boat and row up the lake till you meet the steamer." "I'm going pretty soon." "Better go now. I'm going up after a drink of water. If you don't go pretty soon, you will be too late to do any good on board the steamer," said Mr. Wilford, hoping, if he left the spot, his son would depart also. Lawry hauled in the rowboat, ready to embark; but, before he did so, he made one more search in the bateau for the pocketbook. The timbers of the ferry-boat were ceiled over on the bottom, leaving a space for the leakage between the inner and the outer planking. Near the mast there was a well, from which, with a grain-shovel, the water was thrown out. Lawry examined this hole, feeling under the planks, and thrusting the shovel in as far as he could. This search was unavailing, and he gave it up in despair. As he stepped on shore, his curiosity prompted him to look under the platform outside of the boat. The pocketbook was there! In a space between the planks, a foot above the surface of the water, and the same distance from the side, the pocketbook was thrust in. It could not be seen from the inside of the boat, nor from the platform; and it could not have got there of itself. Lawry's face turned red, and his heart bounded with emotion, for the situation of the pocketbook pointed to but one conclusion. It had been placed there by his father, who had evidently taken it from the pocket of the coat, and concealed it, either before or after the garment had fallen into the water. He was appalled and horrified at the discovery. He knew that his father was discontented with his lot; that he was indolent and thriftless; but he did not think him capable of committing a crime. He reached under the platform, and took the pocketbook from its hiding-place. It was perfectly dry; it had not been in the water. John Wilford had probably taken it from the coat pocket, and after thrusting it into the aperture beneath the drop, had let the platform fall into the water for the purpose of dislodging the coat, and making it appear that the money had been lost in the lake. The pocketbook seemed to burn in Lawry's fingers, and he returned it to the place where he had found it; for he was confused, and did not know what to do. He stood, with flushed face and beating heart, on the shore, considering what course he should take. He could not think of exposing his father's crime, on the one hand, or of permitting him to retain the money, on the other. After long and painful deliberation, he decided to take the pocketbook, follow Mr. Randall, and return it to him, telling him that he had found it under the drop of the boat. He was about to adopt this course when his father came out of the house, and walked down to the ferry-boat. "Not gone yet?" said Mr. Wilford. "No, sir; that money has troubled me so much that I could not go," replied Lawry. "What's the use of bothering your head about that any longer?" added the father petulantly. "It troubles me terribly." "Let it go; it can't be found, and that's the end of it." "But it can be found." "Why don't you find it, then?" "I have found it, father!" "What!" "It's in a crack under the platform," replied Lawry. "You don't mean so!" exclaimed the ferryman. "It's no use to talk round the barn, father; the pocket-book is just where you put it." "Where I put it? What do you mean, Lawry?" "There it is in the crack under the drop, a foot above the water. It did not wash in there of itself. Oh, father!" Lawry, unable longer to control his feelings, burst into tears. "What are you crying about, Lawry? Do you think I hid the pocketbook?" "I know you did, father," sobbed Lawry. "Do you accuse me of stealing?" demanded Mr. Wilford, with a weak show of indignation. "I don't accuse you of anything, father; but there it is." "You mean to say that I stole it?" "Oh, father!" "Stop your whining, Lawry! What possessed you to poke round after what did not concern you? Now, shut up, and go off about your business." "You will not keep it, father?" "I haven't got it. If you have found it, I suppose there is time enough to think what is best to be done." "I don't want any time to think of it," replied Lawry; and before his father could prevent him, he took the pocketbook from its place of concealment. "What are you going to do with it?" demanded Mr. Wilford. "I'm going to find Mr. Randall, and give it back to him, as quick as I can." "What's the use of doing that?" "Because it's the right way to do." "That isn't the way to get rich." "But it's the way to keep honest." "Give it to me, Lawry." "What are you going to do with it, father?" "That's my business." "I shall give it back to the owner." "No, you won't, Lawry. Do you want to get me into trouble--to have me sent to jail?" "If I give it back to Mr. Randall, there will be no trouble." "Lawry, I've been poor and honest long enough. I'm going to do as other men do. I'm going to get rich." "By keeping this money?" exclaimed the son. "You needn't talk any more about it; I put the money where you found it." "I know you did." "Give it to me." "I will not, father, if you mean to keep it." "I do mean to keep it. Do you think I have run all this risk for nothing? Give me the pocketbook." "Don't think of such a thing as keeping it, father," pleaded Lawry. "I'm going to be rich," replied the father doggedly. "You know what mother said about making haste to be rich: 'Haste makes waste.'" "It will make waste if you don't give me the pocket-book." "Mr. Randall will not be satisfied till he gets his money, and you will certainly be found out." "No, I shall not be found out. I'll go to New York and change off the money this very night." "But only think of it, father. You will be a thief. You never will have a moment's peace as long as you live." "I never did have, and I shall not be any worse off," said Mr. Wilford coldly. "There comes your steamer. She hasn't got any pilot on board; I know by the way she steers. You had better go and see to her, for she is running right for the Goblins." Lawry glanced at the Woodville, as she appeared rounding a point, two miles distant. "If you will go and find Mr. Randall, I will give you the pocketbook, father," replied Lawry. "Well, I guess you are right, Lawry, and I'll do it." "He has gone up to the village," added Lawry, as he handed the money to his father. _ |
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