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Haste and Waste; or, the Young Pilot of Lake Champlain, a fiction by Oliver Optic |
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Chapter 6. The Sheriff's Visit |
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_ CHAPTER VI. THE SHERIFF'S VISIT Lawry put the bill of sale of the Woodville in his pocket, and felt like a steamboat proprietor; for the fact that his steamer lay at the bottom of the lake did not seem to lessen her value. She was in a safe place, and there was no danger of her "blowing up" or drifting away from him. The haste of Mr. Sherwood had been "a windfall" to him, though Lawry would not willingly have purchased the steamer at the peril of so many precious lives. He was ready to accept the moral and prudential deductions from the catastrophe, and really believed that the rich man's maxim was a safe and valuable one. In his own limited experience, Lawry could recall many instances where haste had made waste; but the foolish conduct of Mr. Sherwood in attempting to navigate the Woodville in water with which he was totally unacquainted was the most impressive example of the worth of the proverb, and he felt that the steamer, in his own possession, would always mean "haste and waste" to him. "I have often heard my father speak of the folly of unconsidered action and blind haste," said Bertha. "He lost a valued friend in the steamship Arctic, which was sunk, and hundreds of lives sacrificed, by running at full speed in a dense fog. In her case, haste was not only a terrible waste of property, but of life." "That will be worth remembering, Lawry, when you are in command of a steamer," added Mr. Sherwood. "I don't think I ever shall be in such a position," replied Lawry modestly. "I am afraid you never will be on board of the Woodville." "I'm pretty sure she can be raised, though I may not have the means to do it myself," continued Lawry. "You shall have all the means you want, my boy," replied Mr. Sherwood. "We owe you a debt of gratitude which we shall never be able to pay, and if you want anything, don't fail to call upon me." "If you need any help, Lawry, I'm with you," said Ethan French. "Thank you; I dare say I shall want all the help I can get," answered Lawry, as he took his leave of the family. "I'm the owner of a steamboat!" thought he. "I'm a lucky fellow, and I shall make my fortune in the Woodville. I can take out parties, or I can run her on a day route from Burlington up the lake; and there is towing enough to keep me busy all summer." Excited by the brightest visions of the future, he came in sight of his father's cottage. It looked poorer and meaner than it had ever looked before; and perhaps he thought it was hardly a fit abode for a steamboat proprietor. When he saw the tall mast of the ferry-boat, with the sail flapping idly in the wind, he was reminded of the events which had occurred on board of her that afternoon. It was mortifying to think that his father had even been tempted to steal; but he was rejoiced to know that he had been induced to return the six thousand dollars to the owner. Lawry had not seen his father since he left the landing-place to board the Woodville. He was not at the house when the party landed, after the catastrophe, and Lawry was glad he was not there, for his absence assured the anxious son that he had gone in search of Mr. Randall. Amid the exciting events which had followed the painful discovery that his father intended to steal the six thousand dollars, the young pilot had not thought of the matter, for his mind was entirely relieved by Mr. Wilford's promise to give up the money. Lawry went into the house; his father had not yet returned, and his mother asked him a hundred questions about the steamboat disaster, as she set the table for supper. When the meal was ready, Mrs. Wilford went to the door and blew a tin horn, which was intended to summon the ferryman to his tea. "I think father has not got back yet," said Lawry. "Where has he gone?" "Up to the village, I believe," replied Lawry, who had determined not to tell his mother of the great temptation to which his father had almost yielded. "What has he gone up there for?" inquired Mrs. Wilford, who perhaps saw in the anxious looks of her son that something had been concealed from her. "He had a little business up there," answered the young pilot. "I think we had better not wait for him, for he may not be back for some time. I haven't shown you this paper, mother," he continued, wishing to draw off her attention from his father, as he handed her the bill of sale of the Woodville, and seated himself at the table. "What is it, Lawry?" "It is a bill of sale of the little steamer." "A what?" demanded Mrs. Wilford, as she paused with the teapot suspended over a cup. "A bill of sale of the new steamer." "What, the one that was sunk?" "Yes; Mr. Sherwood has given her to me, just as she lies." "Humph! He might as well have given you a five-acre lot at the bottom of the lake. What in the world can you do with a steamboat smashed to pieces and sunk?" "I can raise her." "You may as well think of raising the Goblins on which she sank." "She can be raised, mother." "Perhaps she can, but you can't raise her." "I shall try, at any rate," replied Lawry confidently. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the ferryman. The son cast an anxious glance at his father, as the latter took his accustomed place at the table. A forced smile played about the lips of Mr. Wilford; but Lawry interpreted it as an effort to overcome the sense of humiliation his father must feel at having his dishonest intentions discovered by his son. "Well, Lawry, I found him," said Mr. Wilford. "Did you? I'm very glad you did," replied the son. "Who?" asked Mrs. Wilford. "The bank man--the one that lost the money," replied the ferryman. "What did you want of him?" "We found his money after he had gone." "Did you? I'm so glad! And neither of you said a word to me about it." "I gave it back to him, and it's all right now." Unhappily, it was not all right; and the ferryman had scarcely uttered the words before a knock was heard at the door. Without awaiting the movements of Mrs. Wilford, who rose from the table to open the door, the visitors entered. Mr. Wilford turned deadly pale, for the first person that passed the threshold was the sheriff, whose face was familiar to the ferryman. He was followed by Mr. Randall and a constable. Lawry's heart sank within him when he saw who the visitors were. He feared that his father, in spite of his statement to the contrary, had been led to appropriate the six thousand dollars. It was a moment of agony to him, and he would have given his right, title, and interest in the sunken steamer for the assurance that his parent was an honest man. "I come on rather unpleasant business, Mr. Wilford," the sheriff began; "but I suppose I may as well speak out first as last." "Goodness! what can you want here!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilford. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Wilford," said the sheriff. "It may be all right, for what I know. Mr. Randall, here, has lost a large sum of money, and he thinks he has been robbed. I'm sure I hope it's all right." "Why, husband!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilford; "didn't you just say--" "I didn't say anything," interposed the ferryman. Lawry was quite as pale as his father. He would rather have been accused of the crime himself than had it charged upon his father; he would rather have gone to prison himself than had him dragged away on such an infamous accusation. The sheriff's encouraging words that it might be all right, had no force or comfort for him. Lawry knew that his father was guilty, and he was in despair. Mrs. Wilford had only heard that the money was lost, at first; and then, from her husband, that it had been found and restored to the owner. It was plain that he had told her a falsehood; that if he had found the money, it was still in his possession. The case was too plain to need much reflection. Mr. Randall and the sheriff knew less than the ferryman, less than his wife and his son; but in the good woman's estimation, it was far worse to be guilty than it was to be detected. It would be difficult to fathom the motives which induced John Wilford to tell his wife and son that the money had been restored to the owner. Perhaps he had some plan by which he hoped to escape detection and punishment for his crime; or it may be that he told the falsehood to satisfy Lawry for the present moment. His calculations, whatever they may have been, were exceedingly stupid and ill digested. There was an utter want of skill and judgment in his operations. He was not a strong-minded man, and his guilt seemed to have paralyzed his weak faculties. His failure to be rich in the path of dishonesty was even more signal than his honest but weak efforts in a legitimate business. "What did he just say?" asked the sheriff, whose attention was attracted by Mrs. Wilford's words, but more by the sharp manner of her husband as he interrupted her. "What is your business with me?" demanded the ferryman of the sheriff, earnestly. "What did he say?" repeated the sheriff. "If my husband has been doing anything wrong, I'm sorry for it," replied Mrs. Wilford. "Mr. Randall thinks he has taken his money," added the sheriff. "If you can tell me what your husband just said, it might throw some light on the matter." "Oh, husband!" cried the poor wife, throwing herself into a chair and weeping bitterly. "Mr. Randall knows I haven't taken his money," protested the ferryman stoutly. "Don't cry, marm," said the sheriff, moved by the distress of the afflicted wife. "Nothing has been proved yet, and for all I know, your husband may be as honest as any man in Essex County." "I've always been an honest man, and I always expect to be," added the culprit. "I haven't got the money. If any of you think I have, why don't you do something about it--not try to frighten my wife?" Mr. Wilford was searched by the sheriff and constable, but the money was not upon his person. The house was then carefully examined, but with no different result. "Do you know anything about this business, Lawry?" said the sheriff, when the search was completed. "I don't think he had anything to do with it," interposed Mr. Randall. "The boy helped me look for the pocketbook, and behaved very handsomely; but I didn't like the looks of his father." "What did your father say just before we came?" asked the sheriff. Lawry was stupefied with grief and shame. He knew not what to say, and he dropped his head upon the table, and sobbed like a little child. "Things look bad, Mr. Wilford. Your wife and Lawry know more than they are willing to tell," continued the officer. "You have scared them half out of their wits," replied the ferryman, trying to smile. "It isn't likely we can find out anything here," said the constable. "If he has got the money, he has hid it round the house somewhere." Adopting this suggestion, the officers, followed by Mr. Randall, left the cottage to examine the vicinity. The constable was a shrewd man, and for a country locality, quite distinguished as a thief- taker. The shower early in the afternoon had left the ground in condition to receive the tracks of every individual who had been near the ferry. The sharp officer examined all the marks in the earth, and finally followed the footsteps of John Wilford, through a corn-field, above the cottage. Mrs. Wilford and Lawry wept as though their hearts would break, while the ferryman, trembling with apprehension, paced the kitchen. "What are you crying for?" said he impatiently. "Oh, John!" sobbed his wife. "Nothing has been proved." "Yes, there has. You told me you had given the money to Mr. Randall." "You told me you would restore it to the owner, when I gave you the pocketbook," added Lawry. "Lawry, if you say a word about it, you shall go to jail with me," said Mr. Wilford angrily. _ |
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