CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH PHIL SAILS THE MARIAN ACROSS LAKE MICHIGAN.
"Where are you going now, Philip?" asked Miss Collingsby.
"I am obliged to chase Mr. Whippleton. I told you what he had been doing. He has swindled your father out of a large sum of money, and he has also robbed me of a valuable package, which was put in my care for safe keeping. I must catch him if I follow him all night."
"You are very faithful to my father's interests. I didn't think Mr. Whippleton was such a bad man."
"Your father did not think so, either," I continued; and I explained to her in full the financial operations of the junior partner.
"Do you expect to catch him, Philip?"
"I mean to do so."
"What can you do with him? He is a man, and you are but a boy—excuse me, a young man."
"I don't object to being called a boy, for I am one; but I think I am a match for Mr. Whippleton, physically."
"I think you are, after your battle with Mr. Waterford, who is larger than Mr. Whippleton. But what am I to do?"
"I don't know. I must not lose sight of the Florina."
"I don't want to stay all night in this boat," said she, timidly.
"If I run over to the city and land you, I may as well give up all thought of ever seeing Mr. Whippleton again," I replied, annoyed at the situation.
"My mother will be very anxious about me."
"I know she will; but what can I do?"
"I really don't know."
"If Mr. Whippleton leads me any where near a railroad station, I will see that you are put in the way of returning to your home. I am sure if your father was here, he would insist upon my chasing the villain. If he escapes me, your father will lose a large sum of money—not less than forty thousand dollars, and perhaps more."
"How terrible! You must do as you think best, Philip, without regard to me. I don't like to stay in this boat all night."
"It isn't a bad place to stay," I replied, glancing down into the handsome and comfortable cabin.
"Perhaps not; but I had rather be at home. My father and mother will both worry about me."
"They will ascertain before night where you are; and perhaps Mr. Waterford will return to the city and inform them that you are safe."
"He will not be likely to say anything about me."
"Your father sent me to follow Mr. Whippleton, and I am now literally obeying his orders."
I saw that my fair companion was uneasy in a direction she did not care to explain; and I am sure I respected her all the more for the delicacy of feeling she exhibited. If she and her mother objected to her being alone in the yacht with Mr. Waterford, they might also object to me. I deemed it necessary to say and do all I could to assure her of her own safety.
"Can you steer a boat, Miss Collingsby?" I asked.
"I have steered this boat," she replied.
"Would you like to take the tiller for a while?"
"I can't steer unless some one tells me which way to go."
"You can follow the Florina—can you not?"
"Why do you ask, Philip?"
"I wish to secure the anchor, and put the cook-room and cabin in order. If it should come on to blow, all our dishes would be smashed."
"I will try to steer."
I gave her the helm, and told her to keep the foremast in range with the Florina. The tiller was long, so that it was not very hard to steer, though we were going before the wind. I soon found that she understood the business very well. I told her how to keep the boat steady, and in a short time she was able to do it to her own and to my satisfaction. I had on some good clothes, and I did not care to injure them at the dirty work of cleaning and stowing the anchor. I went below and drew on a pair of old overalls I found in the cook-room, which I had used while getting dinner. In the cabin I took a coat and an old hat, belonging to the owner of the Marian, from a locker, and these completed my outfit. Thus rigged I went on deck again.
"Dear me! How you startled me!" exclaimed Marian, as I stepped into the standing-room.
"Why, what's the matter?"
"I thought it was Mr. Waterford. You looked just like him when you came up those stairs. You have on the clothes he wore the last time I sailed with him."
"He is larger than I am."
"I know he is; but that hat and coat made you look just like him when you were coming up. No matter; I know you are not Mr. Waterford, and I am thankful you are not."
"So am I. If I were Mr. Waterford, I would sell out, and be somebody else the first thing I did," I replied, as I went forward.
I washed off the anchor, and the end of the cable, and stowed them in their proper places. I cleaned off the deck, and was only satisfied when I had everything neat enough to take dinner upon. I was sure the fair helms-lady could steer better now that this mud and confusion were removed, for they lay in her line of vision as she sighted the Florina. I then went below, cleared off the table, washed the dishes, and put them in the lockers, swept out the cabin and cook-room, and put everything in good order. The interior of the yacht was a model of comfort and elegance, and it was unpleasant to see anything out of place there.
As it was probable that Miss Collingsby would be compelled to sleep on board, I satisfied myself that everything in and about the berths was in good order. I took a pair of rifles from one of them, where Mr. Waterford kept them for his hunting trips, and set them up near the companion-way. While I was about it, I explored the cabin in order to ascertain its resources. I found almost everything there which could make the voyagers on the lake happy and comfortable. There was plenty of whiskey and wine, as well as other liquors, which could possibly make the owner happy; but they had no allurements to me.
Having finished my examination, I went on deck, and relieved Marian at the helm, though she declared that she was not tired. I thought it best for her to save her strength, for I did not know what she might be called upon to endure before we returned to Chicago.
"I have put the cabin in order for you, Miss Collingsby," said I, as I seated myself.
"For me? I am very grateful to you, but I don't think I shall have any use for it."
"We may have to sail all night."
"If we do, I will stay here with you. I could not sleep in such a place as that."
"I think it is a very nice place."
"So do I; and under other circumstances I should be very happy there. Do you suppose Julia or Florina Lord is with Mr. Whippleton?"
"I am satisfied that neither of them is with him."
"Mr. Waterford said they were; but that was a part of his deception."
"He does not scruple to lie."
"If Julia were only here, I should be satisfied," added she, looking out upon the lake.
"I am sorry she is not; but you may be satisfied as it is. You shall have the cabin all to yourself."
"I'm not afraid of anything," said she, with some confusion on her pretty face.
"You ought not to be afraid of your own cousin."
"My own what?" asked she, with a smile.
"Of your own cousin."
"Where is he?"
"I am he."
"You, Philip," laughed she.
"Perhaps you think I am joking; but I am not."
"You really don't mean to say that you are my cousin."
"I do really mean to say it, and I know it is true."
"How can that be?"
"It so happens that my mother and your father are brother and sister; and I believe the relationship of cousin is usually established in some such way."
"Doubtless you are quite right, Mr. Philip; but my father has but one sister, and she does not happen to have any children. Therefore I cannot possibly have any such cousin as you mention," said she, smiling at what she deemed her overwhelming argument; and perhaps she thought I was getting up a conspiracy against her.
"Your conclusion would be entirely just if the premises were correct. Your father's sister had one child."
"Had, but has not now. Her little son was lost on the Missouri River."
"Supposed to be lost, but not lost," I replied, warmly. "I am that son."
"Do you really mean so, Philip?" she inquired, looking at me earnestly, as if to fathom the trick I was playing upon her.
"I do most certainly."
"What is your other name?"
"Farringford."
"That was certainly the name of my aunt's husband; but it is impossible to believe so strange a story."
"I am afraid your father and your grandfather would refuse to believe what I say. Now, while we are chasing Mr. Whippleton, I will tell you the whole story."
I did tell it, and I had an attentive auditor; but when I had finished it, I was taken aback by her declaring that I had been reading dime novels, and had stolen the plot of one of them. But she said it so prettily and so good-naturedly, that I forgave her on the instant, though she did not sue for pardon.
"But I have heard that your father—" she began.
"Was a drunkard and a spendthrift," I added, completing the sentence for her. "He was, but is not now. He is a sober, honest, prudent, and Christian man."
"I am glad to hear that, for I was forbidden years ago even to mention his name," added Marian. "I don't think my father or grandfather will believe this story."
"They will have to believe it, if evidence will convince them," I replied, stoutly.
"But what does my aunt say?"
"My mother has not yet heard the story. My father wrote to my grandfather several times, but he took no notice of the letters."
"Aunt Louise has been in Europe several years."
"I have never seen my mother since I was a child; I do not remember her. Do you know where she is?"
"She was in Italy last winter; but I don't know where she is now."
"Will you ascertain for me?" I asked, with more interest than I cared to manifest.
"I will."
"I have her portrait in St. Louis. It was in a locket attached to a coral chain which I wore when I was saved from the river. I will show it to you some time."
"If it is really her portrait, I shall believe the story, whether anybody else does or not."
"My father says it is her portrait, and he ought to know. He is sure I am the lost son."
"You are so honest and brave, Philip, that I can't help believing you. I hope you are my cousin, at any rate, for I shall be proud of the relationship."
"Thank you, Marian—may I call you so?"
"Certainly you may, if you are my cousin."
"You are very kind."
"Indeed, you have already placed me under a debt of obligation to you which I can never repay."
"I am more glad to serve you than you can be to be served. Steady!"
"What's the matter?"
"The Florina has hauled her wind," I replied, watching the chase.
"What does that mean?"
"She has turned her head more to the north."
I hauled in the main sheet, and stood after the other yacht. It was sundown now, and we were within two or three miles of the Michigan shore. Half an hour later the Florina ran in at the mouth of a river. When we reached the opening, we found she had anchored half a mile up the stream. I did not deem it prudent to follow her, and I dropped the Marian's anchor at once.
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH PHIL ANSWERS SOME INQUIRIES ABOUT THE FAWN, AND OTHER MATTERS.
I hauled down the jib, and left the mainsail standing when I anchored the Marian at the mouth of the river, for I did not know what Mr. Whippleton intended to do, and his movements were to govern mine. Though the mouth of the river was rather narrow, it opened, like the creek where we had anchored at noon, into a broad lagoon. There were hundreds of just such small lakes near the large one, in some cases with a narrow outlet, and in others with none at all. Among the effects of Mr. Ben Waterford which I found in the cabin, were several large maps, and one of these was the most interesting study I could find as I watched the Florina.
I saw from this map that there was no large town near the lagoon, and no means of reaching a railroad. I concluded, therefore, that Mr. Whippleton did not intend to abandon his yacht at this point. I was ready to make any movement as soon as he showed his purpose, and he could not take the Florina out of the lagoon without passing very near the Marian. He had anchored at a considerable distance from the shore, but he had a tender.
"What are you going to do here, Philip?" asked Marian, after I had studied the map to my satisfaction.
"I am going to see what Mr. Whippleton does. He knows that I am on his track, I suppose."
"If he has as much money as you say, he will be likely to run away."
"Not to-night; he will not like the idea of tramping through the woods in the dark."
"There! he's hauling in his small boat," added Marian, pointing to the yacht.
"So he is," I replied, pulling in the tender of the Marian.
"What will you do?"
"If he attempts to land, I shall follow him. I don't intend to lose sight of him. I haven't come so far to be balked now."
"What shall I do?" asked my fair cousin, with an anxious look.
"You will be perfectly safe here."
"What, alone?"
"I shall be sorry to leave you; but I must follow Mr. Whippleton, for your father's sake as well as my own."
"I will go with you then. I should not dare to stay here alone."
"But I don't believe Mr. Whippleton intends to leave the yacht. If he had meant to do so, he would have run into St. Joseph's River, instead of this lagoon, where there seems to be no good landing-place. We will wait and see what he is about."
"There are two of them," said Marian.
"So I perceive. I was not aware before that he had any one with him."
I observed the movements of the two persons on board of the Florina for some time. One of them jumped into the tender, at last, and shoved off.
"He's coming this way," said Marian.
"I see he is; it don't look like Mr. Whippleton," I replied, closely scrutinizing the person in the small boat. "I think you had better stay in the cabin, Marian."
"Why?"
"If it should be Mr. Whippleton, there may be some trouble."
"What trouble?"
"The moment he sees me he will understand my business with him; and to be entirely candid with you, I am afraid I shall have a worse battle with him than I had with Mr. Waterford."
"Why, you will not fight!"
"I must have your father's money, and the property he stole from me."
"I hope you won't quarrel," she added, anxiously.
"Not if I can help it. Mr. Whippleton is a fugitive from justice, and I don't mean to let him escape me."
"I am afraid of him. If he gets rid of you, he will go back and find Mr. Waterford."
"Well, don't worry any more yet. That is not Mr. Whippleton in the boat. I am sorry it is not he," I continued, satisfied, as the boat approached, that it was not the fugitive.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because, if this other person, whoever he is, come on board, and find that Mr. Waterford is not here, and that I am here, he will try to escape."
"Of course he knows that you are here."
"I am afraid he does; but I hope not. He had passed the point at the mouth of the creek when the battle was finished on the other side of the lake. I can't tell whether he saw the result or not."
"That's a black man in the boat," said Marian.
"Then he has engaged a cook."
I knew that Mr. Whippleton sometimes employed a colored man, who had been a sailor and a cook on the lake, to help him work the yacht when I could not go with him; but I had never seen him, and did not think it probable that he knew me. I went into the cabin, and brought out one of Mr. Waterford's rifles; but as I did not intend to kill anybody, I did not take the precaution to load it.
"What are you going to do with that, Philip?" asked Marian, as I returned to the standing-room, with the rifle in my hand.
"I may have occasion to use it; but it is not loaded."
"Don't shoot any one, Philip—pray don't."
"I shall not be likely to do so while the rifle is not loaded."
"But you may do something you don't intend to do."
"I certainly don't intend to fire a rifle that isn't loaded; and I shall not shoot any one."
I had not yet decided what to do, though a desperate scheme was flitting through my mind. If Mr. Whippleton slept in the cabin of the Florina that night, it would be possible to board the yacht by stealth in the darkness, fall upon him, and bind him hand and foot. The plan looked practicable to me, and though I had not yet arranged the details of it in my mind, or considered its difficulties, I was disposed to undertake it. I did not care, therefore, to have the negro return to the Florina with the intelligence that I was in possession of the Marian. I intended, therefore, to make him sleep on board of our boat.
Before I had fully determined in what manner I should detain the cook on board of the Marian, the boat came alongside. I turned my head away from the man, so that her need not discover that I was not Mr. Waterford before he came on board. I opened a conversation with Miss Collingsby, and appeared to take no notice of the arrival. The negro was evidently one of the lazy kind, for he did not offer to come on board.
Old Pete comes after informationOld Pete comes after information.Page 247.
"How do you do, Mr. Waterford?" said the cook, as he brought his boat under the quarter of the yacht.
"How do you do?" I replied, in a gruff tone.
"Gorrificious! Don't you know old Peter?" exclaimed the cook, apparently wounded at my want of recognition of him.
"How are you, old Peter?" I added, coughing violently to disguise my voice.
"Gorrificious, Mr. Waterford! I reckon you've got a bad cold. I've got a letter for you from Mr. Whippleton," continued the cook.
"Take it—will you, Marian?" I added, still coughing. "I don't want him to see me;" and I retreated into the cabin.
"Thank you miss," said Peter, as he delivered the letter. "I'm right down sorry Mr. Waterford has got such a terrible cough—on his wedding day, too, miss. Gorrificious, Miss Collingsby! Mr. Waterford is a lucky gentleman; but he desarves you. He's a fine gentleman—liberal to old Peter and all the boys."
Marian made no reply to this speech, though, when she appeared in the cabin, her cheeks and forehead were crimson with confusion.
"Did you hear what old Peter said," she asked.
"I did; and it is plain enough that Mr. Whippleton is in the secret, and has even told it to his cook."
"If I ever get home again, I shall not disobey my father. To think that the wretch told Mr. Whippleton all about it beforehand."
"I supposed he had," I replied, as I opened the letter.
"What does he say, Philip?" asked Marian, curiously.
"'Dear Ben'—that's the way he begins. 'How is the fawn?'"
"The fawn?"
"Probably meaning Miss Collingsby," I replied. "'I was afraid Phil would give you some trouble when I saw you had him on board. But you fixed him handsomely. I saw him tip over the bow of the boat. If you hadn't got rid of him, I should have gone ashore and helped you. I'm glad it's all right. Why didn't you run up the river farther, and anchor near the Florina? I thought I wouldn't call upon you till I knew how the fawn was. If she is agreeable, we will run to St. Joseph in the morning, and have your business done before noon.'"
"The brute!" exclaimed Marian, indignantly. "This has cured me of all the romance I ever had. I used to think my father was very harsh; but now I know he was right. He knew this man better than I did."
The familiarity and coarseness of the epistle were very offensive to her, and she could hardly restrain her indignation.
"'P.S.' I continued, reading from the letter. 'In my hurry I forgot the most important part of my stores. Please send me a couple of bottles of whiskey, and let me know all about the fawn.'"
That was all; and Mr. Whippleton wanted but two things—whiskey and information in regard to the fawn. I intended to furnish him with both, as the representative of Mr. Ben Waterford. I found a sheet of paper in the cabin, and I proceeded to describe the condition of the "fawn."
"Dear Charley," I began; and I had heard Mr. Waterford apply this familiar name to our junior partner: "The fawn is very uneasy, and does not like the idea of staying over night in this lagoon. I don't think it is safe for you to remain here. Phil said the officers were on your track, that Collingsby was after you with a sharp stick. Phil must have spoken to the fawn, for she is very suspicious. I shall have to leave in order to quiet her. I am all alone, and can't cook, or do anything, while sailing. I am in a fix. I want Peter badly. Can't you let me have him? I need him more than you do. Why can't you leave the Florina here, and come on board of the Marian? I send you four bottles of whiskey.
"P.S. I got a rap on the right hand in the fight, and can't write much."
I wrote this with a pencil, and in a style which would pass for anybody's handwriting who had been wounded in a fight. I folded it up, and having placed the four bottles of whiskey in a basket, I asked Marian to deliver them to the cook, while I continued to cough vigorously. I stood at the companion-way while my fair companion did the errand.
"Gorrificious, Miss Collingsby!" exclaimed the negro. "Whiskey's plenty as water, but none of it for old Peter."
"Take this letter to Mr. Whippleton," added Marian.
"Yes, miss. Old Peter'll do that. Can you told me if the letter says how many bottles of whiskey they is in the basket?"
"It says four."
"Marian," I called to her. "Here is one for Peter."
I gave her the extra bottle, and she presented it to the cook, who was more grateful for the gift than he would have been for its value in cash. I am willing to acknowledge that it was against my principles to give liquor to any one; but the probability was, that I should have a battle with the master, who would perhaps be aided by the man; and I regarded the whiskey as an ally of mine, as long as they, and not I, drank it. As soon as Peter had departed, my cough improved, and I ventured on deck again. I was sure that what I had written would make a breeze, when Mr. Whippleton read it, and I tried to prepare myself for whatever might happen.
CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH PHIL IS BEWILDERED, AND THE MARIAN SAILS FOR CHICAGO.
"What next, Philip?" asked Marian, when I had seated myself in the standing-room.
"That boat will return next with Mr. Whippleton," I replied, picking up the rifle which I had left upon the cushion.
"I hope there will be no violence," she added, anxiously.
"I hope not; but what shall I do? Shall I let him rob your father of half the capital of the firm? Shall I let him rob his mother of nearly all she has in the world? If I don't strike when I have an opportunity, everything will be lost."
"What do you mean by his mother?"
"The package which Mr. Whippleton took from the safe was placed in my charge by his mother, to keep it from falling into his hands. She was very sick, and may not live many days. Your father had no idea what a villain his partner was."
"I am sure he had not; but can't you manage it without any violence?"
"If I can, I will. I have no taste for a fight; but I have still less for letting Mr. Whippleton run away with his ill-gotten gains. I should be ashamed of myself if I did. Besides, your father accuses me of concealing the villany of his partner, and even of being a participator in it. He would have good reason to think so if I let him slip through my fingers now. No, I will not do it. I will follow him to the end of the earth, and if he don't give up his plunder there will be a fight, though I may get my own head smashed in the scrape."
Marian said no more about peace on such terms, and I watched the boat with interest, as it came up under the counter of the Florina. I did not see Mr. Whippleton read the letter I had written; but I have no doubt that he did read it, for in a few moments more he embarked in the tender with Peter.
"There they come, just as you said!" exclaimed Marian, apparently in despair.
"I knew that letter would bring him, for I informed him that the officers of justice were on his track. I have no doubt that the police have telegraphed to all the cities within a thousand miles of Chicago by this time. If anything would wake up the rascal, the news I sent him would have that effect. Besides, I invited him to take passage in the Marian."
"You did!"
"Yes, for I want him where I can put my hand upon him."
"But he can put his hand upon you, and then I shall be alone. What will become of me?"
"You need not be at all alarmed. He will not injure or insult you."
"What do you mean to do, Philip? Can't I help you?"
"I intend to make a prisoner of him, if possible. I don't think you can help me do such a job. I am going into the cabin now, for I don't wish him to see me until he is fairly on board."
"What shall I do?"
"Stay here, if you please. He will go below immediately."
The tender was rapidly approaching the yacht, and I went into the cabin, where I had another attack of coughing as soon as I heard Mr. Whippleton step upon the deck.
"Good evening, Miss Collingsby," said he, as he saw our fair passenger. "I hope you are very well. Where is your friend?"
"What friend?" she asked, in such a tone that I was afraid she would excite his suspicions before he came into the cabin.
"Why, Mr. Waterford, of course. Since you are to become his wife to-morrow morning, he ought to be the dearest friend on earth to you. But as he is not on deck, he must be in the cabin."
I heard his step on the ladder, and I confess that I felt no little anxiety for the issue. I sat upon one of the lockers, still wearing the skipper's coat and hat. It was rather dark in the cabin, and I was not surprised that he did not recognize me at first.
"What's all this, Ben?" said he, in hurried speech. "Every dollar counts now, and I can't afford to lose a thousand by leaving my boat here. I was to deliver her to the purchaser to-morrow at St. Joseph. What do you mean about officers? Collingsby hasn't the remotest suspicion that anything is wrong."
"Yes, he has," I replied, coughing and choking, so that I could not have identified my own voice.
"What has happened?" he demanded, in obvious alarm.
"He knows everything," I barked, with my handkerchief over my mouth. "He has telegraphed to St. Joseph and fifty other places before this time to have you arrested."
"Arrested!"
I heard the long breath he drew in his terror.
"We must be off at once."
"What's the matter with you? What makes you cough so?"
"A cold."
"What will you do with the fawn, Ben?"
"She is not agreed to anything," I replied, as I struck a match, for I thought it was time to have a little more light on the subject.
I had waited till he was in a comfortable position on the locker opposite me, with the table between us. I lighted the lamp, which was suspended from the ceiling of the cabin. My cough was suddenly and miraculously cured.
"What are you going to do, Ben?"
"That will depend upon what you do," I replied, in my natural voice.
"Who are you?"
"Your obedient servant," I answered, throwing off the hat I had worn, which concealed my face in part.
"Phil!" gasped he, starting back with astonishment.
"Assistant book-keeper, &c.," I replied.
"What are you doing here?"
"Attending to the affairs of the firm which I have the honor to serve. I am here on their business, though I have a little of mine to attend to at the same time."
"Where is Mr. Waterford?" demanded he; and I saw by the light of the lamp that he was as pale as when I had startled him with my balance sheet in the counting-room.
"I left him over at the mouth of that creek on the other side of the lake."
"You left him there? Do you mean to say that you have stolen his yacht?"
"No, sir; I don't mean to say so, and I don't think it is quite fair for you to say so, since I intend to restore her to Mr. Waterford, or to his legal representative, on claim, and sufficient evidence of ownership."
"Who wrote the letter which Peter brought me?"
"I did; but, as I told you in the letter, my hand was injured in the fight, and I couldn't do justice to my own style of penmanship."
"It was a forgery then."
"I signed no name to it, but left you to draw your own inferences."
"It is just as much a forgery as though you had signed it."
"But not half so much a forgery as receipting a lumber bill of the Michigan Pine Company. I hope the whiskey reached you in good order and condition."
"None of your impudence, Phil. This isn't the way to treat one who has used you as well as I have."
"For all the kindness you have bestowed upon me, I am very grateful; and I am only sorry you were not worthy of the confidence I felt in your integrity."
"We need not quarrel, Phil," said he, after a short pause. "We have always been good friends; let us be so still. I saw a scuffle between you and Mr. Waterford over at the creek."
"And you thought I had the worst of it."
"I saw him pitch you out of the boat."
"If you had staid a moment longer in sight, you would have seen me pitch him out afterwards."
I defined and explained my position, and justified it as well as I was able. Miss Collingsby had appealed to me for help, and in rendering it, under the circumstances, I did not feel disposed to let the ownership of the yacht defeat my good intentions to save her from the wiles of a villain.
"Do you call Ben Waterford a villain?" he demanded.
"The dictionary does not afford me any better word to express my opinion of him. I wish he was the only one I knew."
"Do you refer to me?"
I explained myself more fully on this point, and the junior partner of our house mildly expressed his rage. I suppose his stinging conscience did not permit him to do so in a more determined manner. I told him that Mr. Collingsby was in possession of all the facts relating to his defalcations, both of the money and the notes of the firm. He bit his lip in silence for a few moments, as if arranging his mental forces for an assault upon me.
"Phil, you have made another stupid blunder," said he. "As I have told you plainly before, you are insufferably conceited. You think you know enough for two men, when you know just half enough for one. That's what's the matter. You have made a pretty kettle of fish."
"I think you made it yourself."
"Don't be impudent. We must return to Chicago at once."
"That's one of my sentiments exactly," I replied. "Shall we weigh anchor now?"
"Yes, if you like, though there is no wind. I told you Mr. Collingsby didn't know anything about the business, and would be alarmed at your ridiculous statements."
"He knows all about the business now, and, as you say, he is a great deal alarmed."
"I assure you, Phil, upon my honor, that everything about the business is all right. You have made another blunder."
"I wish I had."
"You have."
"You drew the balance at the bank, and discounted over thirty thousand dollars' worth of notes."
"I did; and as a member of the firm, I had a perfect right to do so. I had a chance to make fifty thousand on one lot of lumber. I was not to be prevented from doing so by a whim of my partner. He prefers generally to furnish money, rather than put our business paper on the market. I gave him the opportunity to do so. He refused, and I raised the money as I could. This is simply a question between Mr. Collingsby and me. When he wishes to dissolve, I'm ready."
"May I ask what you are doing over here, with such a heavy transaction on your hands?"
"On my way to buy the lumber. I have the money in my bag," said he, holding up the article.
"Do you happen to have a package in your bag with my name upon it, taken from the safe?"
"I have; and I happen to have also an order from my mother for you to deliver it to me."
"Indeed."
"Here it is," he added, handing me a crumpled paper.
It certainly was an order, setting forth that all differences between Mrs. Whippleton and her son had been settled, and requiring me to give him the papers.
"When I was ready to go, I could not find you; so I took the papers; but you have the order now, and I hope you are satisfied on that point."
I was not exactly satisfied; but I felt that Mr. Whippleton was arguing me down, if he was not convincing me.
"How about those invoices?" I continued. "The agent of the Michigan Pine Company says he sold you no such lumber."
"If he will tell me so to my face, I should like to have him do it. I will give him an opportunity to-morrow."
Mr. Whippleton was indignant. He talked honest, and I could not gainsay him. I was almost inclined to believe that I was a fool, and had made a blunder; but as he was willing to go to Chicago, I was satisfied to leave the adjustment of the whole matter to Mr. Collingsby. We went on deck, and as there was a little breeze, we tripped the anchor, and stood up the lagoon. I was bewildered; but my heaviest catastrophe was yet to come.
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH PHIL, IN THE MARIAN, GETS THE WEATHER-GAGE OF THE FLORINA.
There was scarcely a breath of wind when we weighed anchor. Mr. Whippleton insisted upon running up to the Florina, in order to leave his tender, and to obtain certain articles he had left on board. The breeze entirely failed before we had made half the distance, and we were obliged to anchor again to prevent being drifted ashore. Mr. Whippleton and old Peter took both the tenders, and visited the Florina, leaving Marian and myself alone again.
"I am so thankful that you had no quarrel," said she, as we sat together in the standing-room, watching the receding boats.
"So am I, Marian."
"And it seems that you were mistaken in regard to his accounts."
"I don't think I was," I replied, rather warmly. "I am perplexed and bothered; but I don't see how I can be mistaken."
"Mr. Whippleton would not be willing to return to Chicago, if he had been such a villain as you say."
"I don't think he would. That is really all the evidence I have that he has not been stealing his partner's money. I don't understand it; but if he will return to Chicago, that is all I desire. I prefer that he should settle the matter with your father."
"But he knew all about Mr. Waterford's plans," added she, turning away from me, though the gloom of the evening hid her blushes.
"Yes; he said he did. He told me that, if Mr. Waterford loved you, and you loved Mr. Waterford, he could see no reason why you should not be happy together, in spite of the prejudices of your father."
"I never consented to elope with Mr. Waterford. It is true that I listened to his proposal, several weeks ago; but I did not agree to it. He did not renew it when I asked for time to think of it. I don't love him now; I can't say that I ever did, though I was rather pleased with him. After this, I'm sure I shall always think more of a gentleman's character than of his looks and manners."
"I think the character is of vastly more importance," I replied, judging from observation rather than experience.
"Do you think Mr. Whippleton will come back, Philip?"
"Come back? Yes," I replied, rather startled by the question.
"He may take one of those boats, go on shore, and make his way across the state to the east."
"Then you think it is possible that I was not mistaken in regard to the accounts of Mr. Whippleton?"
"Of course it is possible. It just occurred to me that he might have taken this method of getting rid of you."
"You are right, Marian. I ought to have gone with them, for they have taken both boats, and there isn't a breath of wind."
"I don't mean that it is so, only that it might be."
"Now I think of it, he said in his letter that he had sold the Florina, and was to deliver her in St. Joseph to-morrow. If he had not intended to have cleared out, he would not have sold her. I am afraid I have made another blunder."
I was vexed at my own want of precaution. Mr. Whippleton had taken both tenders, and it seemed to me now that he had done so in order to prevent me from following him. He intended to leave his own with his yacht, and to return in that belonging to the Marian. I do not even now know that Miss Collingsby had not suggested his real purpose, for while I was vexing myself about the blunder I had made, the waters were rippled by a gentle breeze. I sprang forward and hauled up the anchor with a celerity that was worthy of the occasion. The mainsail was still up, and taking the helm, I ran the yacht up the lagoon. I could just see the outline of the Florina in the gloom, and a few puffs of wind carried us up to her.
There was a light in the cabin of the Florina, and both the tenders were alongside. Mr. Whippleton had not gone yet, whatever he intended to do, and I breathed freely again.
"Gorrificious!" shouted Peter from the deck of the Florina. "Where you goin' now?"
"Stand by to catch a line," I replied.
"All ready; heave the line," added the cook.
In a moment we were fast to the other yacht, and I firmly determined not to lose sight of Mr. Whippleton again, under any circumstances. We had hardly made fast before the wind died out again. It was only a puff which had come to my aid, as it were providentially, and had enabled me to gain my point. I had noticed, when Mr. Whippleton left the Florina, that he took with him the leather bag, which contained his money and valuable papers; but I had thought nothing of the circumstance at the time, for it seemed to me quite natural that he should be very careful of an article of so much value. If that providential puff of air had not enabled me to throw the Marian alongside his yacht, I am satisfied, in the light of subsequent events, that he would have made an attempt to elude me. He could have gone on shore in the tender, lived in the woods, or at the cabin of some settler, for a week or more, until I was tired of waiting for him, and then taken to his yacht, and escaped by the way of Canada.
"What are you doing up here, Phil?" shouted the subject of all my anxious solicitude, as he came out of the cabin of the Florina.
"We had a little breeze, and I came up to save you the trouble of rowing," I replied.
"You have a talent for making blunders, Phil," growled he, in a tone which did much to confirm my suspicions.
"Not a bad blunder, since I am safe here," I replied.
"You might have run her aground, and we should have had to leave her here all summer. Don't you know any better than to run about in the night where you are not acquainted? Is that the way you use other people's boats?"
"The Marian is still afloat, and safe. Do you want any help?"
"No; no such help as you can give. You can't do anything without making a blunder. I should like to knock the conceit out of you."
The more blunders he charged upon me, and the more savage he was, the better assured I became that I had hit the nail on the head. As we were playing at cross-purposes, it was evident that all my direct thrusts would be regarded as blunders by him. What suited him could not possibly suit me, under the present circumstances. I did not know what he was doing on board of the Florina, and I did not care, so long as I knew where he was. He went into the cabin after he had expressed his mind to me, and I did not see him again for over an hour.
"You must be tired, Marian," I said to my fair companion, as I heard her gape.
"I am tired, Philip."
"Why not lie down, then? I will watch over you, and see that no harm comes to you while you sleep."
"Thank you, Philip; you are very kind. I am afraid I could not sleep if I did lie down."
"You can at least rest yourself. You shall have the cabin all to yourself. We may not leave this lagoon before morning."
"Where will the rest of you sleep, if I take the cabin all to myself?"
"I shall sleep on deck. These cushions are as good a bed as I want."
"And Mr. Whippleton?"
"If we stay here, he will sleep on board of his own yacht. If not, he will probably stay at the helm."
"I am very tired, for it seems to me that I never endured so much in one day in my life before," she replied, rising, and going into the cabin.
I went with her, and secured the door which led into the cook-room, and showed her how to fasten the slide at the companion-way. I drew the blue curtains over the deck lights, and it seemed to me that maiden never had a more inviting chamber than the little cabin of the Marian. I bade her good night, and helped her close the door. Resuming my seat on the cushions of the standing-room, I thanked God that he had preserved her from the wiles of the villain; and I hoped she did not herself forget to acknowledge the goodness of Him who always watches over the innocent.
There was no wind, and no sign of any. The sky was cloudless, and there was not a ripple on the lagoon, not a rustle in the forest that bordered it. I had brought up a blanket and an old coat from the cabin to serve me as bed-clothes; and stretching myself on the cushions, I soon went to sleep. I did not believe that Mr. Whippleton could leave in the boat without my knowledge, for at such times I always slept with one eye open. If a breeze came, it would shake the mainsail and rattle the sheet-blocks near my head, and wake me. I had been up half of the preceding night with Mrs. Whippleton, and I was very tired myself. I could not foresee what would happen within the next few days, and I deemed it prudent to economize my strength.
So far as the wind was concerned, my calculation was correct. It did shake the mainsail, and rattle the sheet-blocks, and I was aroused from my slumbers. I raised myself upon my bed, to assure myself that the Florina was still near me. That was the very thing, however, of which I could not assure myself. In fact she was not near me. I sprang to my feet, and felt that I had made a blunder, but such a one as Mr. Whippleton would not charge upon me. The Marian was adrift, and the breeze was carrying her farther up the lagoon, where she might get aground. My first care was to secure her from any such accident, which would indeed have been a catastrophe to me. All I had to do was to put the helm down, and bring the yacht up into the wind, which came only in light puffs. It was from the westward, and I had just slant enough to enable me to lay a course towards the lake.
As soon as I got her head to the breeze, I hoisted the jib. Seating myself at the helm, I studied the course, and kept a sharp lookout ahead for the Florina. I was satisfied that the first breath of wind had waked me, and that the other yacht could not be far from me. In a few moments I was assured of the correctness of my calculation, for I discovered the Florina behind a point of land. She had come thus far without hoisting her jib, and had not been able to lay very close to the wind. Mr. Whippleton knew the navigation of the lagoon, and had run his yacht where I should not have dared to go. Probably he had not hoisted his jib before, lest the noise of it should wake me; but I saw it go up almost as soon as I caught sight of her.
I do not like to accuse other people of making blunders, but I was sure that Mr. Whippleton had made one in not standing directly out of the lagoon; but doubtless he expected to have his own time for the operation. As it was, I had the weather-gage of him. He had run over to leeward so far, with a projecting point of land between him and the mouth of the creek, that I should be off the headland before he could reach it.
I rubbed my hands with delight when I realized the situation, and saw that I could not help cutting him out. The neglect on his part to hoist the jib had lost him the battle, while my jib had won it for me. The slant of the wind would enable me to go clear of the point, off which I had first anchored the Marian, while Mr. Whippleton would be obliged to make two tacks in order to weather it. But he had the wind freer than I, for he had evidently run off to leeward for the sole purpose of setting his jib without disturbing me.
As I was approaching the point of land, the Florina came within hailing distance of me.
"Marian, ahoy! Where are you going, Phil?" shouted Mr. Whippleton, wrathfully.
"After you."
"Another blunder, you blockhead! Come about, and take me on board."
I was willing to comply with this request, for it seemed reasonable to me. Both boats were heaved to, and Mr. Whippleton put off in one of the tenders.