Haste and Waste; Or, the Young Pilot of Lake Champlain. A Story for Young People, - [phonics reader .txt] 📗

guess we shall," replied John Wilford.

"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three o'clock."

"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."

"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director petulantly; "you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."

"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.

Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience at the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments gazing at the Vermont shore, and appeared to be engaged in estimating the distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not satisfactory, and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With hasty step he walked aft again.

"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as he stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.

"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.

When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop, true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a watery grave, as the case might be.

"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled off the platform into the water.

"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.

"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned the unhappy bank director.

CHAPTER III SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS

Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had become the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.

Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a larger scale than ever had been known at Woodville. He had been remarkably fortunate in his financial operations, and was already a wealthy man. Though he did not retire from active business, he had taken a partner, which enabled him to spend a part of his time during the summer at his country house on the lake.

Mr. Grant had gone to Europe a second time, to be absent during the summer, and Miss Fanny and Fanny Jane had accepted Bertha's invitation to spend a few weeks at Port Rock. A splendid time had been promised them by Mrs. Sherwood, who had made extensive preparations for their visit. The arrangements included a novelty which offered a very brilliant prospect to the party, and excited the imagination even of the older ones to the highest pitch.

This novelty was nothing less than a miniature steamboat, which had already been christened the Woodville, in honor of the home of the owner's lady. She was a splendid little craft, and as perfect in her machinery and appointments as any steamer that ever floated. She was a side-wheel boat, sixty feet in length, by twelve feet beam. Forward there were a regular wheel-house, a small kitchen, and other rooms usually found in a steamer. Abaft the wheels there were a saloon and two staterooms. Of course all these apartments, as well as the cabin below, were very contracted in their dimensions; but they were fitted up in the most elegant style.

The Woodville had cost a great deal of money; but her owner expected to realize a full return for it in the enjoyment she would afford him, his wife, and their friends. She had been sent up the Hudson, and through the canal to Whitehall, and thence to Port Henry, where she had arrived on the day before Lawry Wilford's return to Port Rock.

On board of the little steamer there is an old friend of our readers. He may be found in the engine-room; and as he rubs up the polished iron of the machinery, he is thinking of Fanny Jane Grant, with whom he escaped from the Indians in Minnesota, and whom he expects on board with Mr. Sherwood's party. The young man, now sixteen years of age, is the engineer of the Woodville. Though he has been but two years learning the trade of machinist, he is as thoroughly acquainted with every part of a marine-engine as though he had spent his lifetime in studying it.

The engine of the Woodville was built at the works where Ethan French was learning his trade, and he had been employed in its construction. As he was a frequent visitor at Woodville, he had petitioned for the situation he now held. At first, Mr. Sherwood was not willing to trust him; but Ethan's employers declared that he was a man in everything but years, and was fully competent to manage the engine, and even to build one after the designs were made. He had come up from New York in the steamer. He had seen Mr. Sherwood at Port Henry, on his arrival, and had been ordered to have the boat in readiness to start on the following morning, when the family would be passengers.

Mr. Sherwood had already selected Lawry Wilford as the pilot of the Woodville. He was small in stature, and would look better in the wheel-house than a full-grown man. He had often met the young pilot, and had been greatly pleased with his energy and decision. Lawry had been employed by Miss Fanny several times to row her on the lake; and he had served her so faithfully that her influence was not wanting in procuring for him the situation.

Lawry, not yet informed of the honorable and responsible position which had been awarded to him, walked up to Mr. Sherwood's house. He had heard Miss Fanny speak of the Woodville, while in the boat with him, and had listened with delight to her enthusiastic description of the beautiful craft. He was quite as anxious to see her as any of the party who were more directly interested in her.

"Can I see Mr. Sherwood?" asked Lawry.

"He has gone away," replied the man.

"Where has he gone?"

"To Port Henry; he went in the carriage, and is coming back in the new steamboat."

"Has he got a pilot?" continued Lawry anxiously.

"I don't know; he expected you, I believe; but when you didn't come back, he couldn't wait any longer. I heard him say he could pilot her himself, and I suppose he is going to do so."

"I'm sorry I didn't see him; I have but just got home," replied Lawry.

He wanted to pilot the beautiful little steamer up from Port Henry. He wanted to see her; wanted to make her acquaintance, for she promised to be the belle of the lake. He was sorry to lose the chance, for it might prove to be a valuable one to him. Mr. Sherwood was very liberal, and he hoped he would not engage another pilot. It was no use to complain, and Lawry walked back to the ferry, where he could see the steamer when she arrived. When he reached the landing-place, the ferry-boat was about halfway across the lake, and his attention was attracted by the strange movements of those on board of her. His father was laboring at the steering-oar with a zeal which indicated that some unusual event had occurred. The ferry-boat was thrown up into the wind, and while Lawry was waiting to ascertain what the matter was, his father leaped into the water.

It was now evident to Lawry that something serious had happened, and he sprang into the small keel-boat, used for conveying foot-passengers across the lake, which was fastened to a stake on the shore. Taking the oars, he pulled with all his might toward the ferry-boat. He was a stout boy, and handled his oars very skillfully; but before he could reach the scene of the excitement, his father had returned to the bateau.

"There's your coat," said John Wilford.

Mr. Randall seized the garment with convulsive energy, and with trembling hands felt for the pocketbook in which the six thousand dollars had been kept.

"It is gone!" gasped he; and he seemed ready to sink down in the bottom of the boat when he discovered his loss.

"Gone!" exclaimed John Wilford.

"What's the matter?" asked Lawry.

"I've lost my pocketbook with six thousand dollars in it," groaned the bank director.

"How did you lose it?" demanded Lawry.

"That drop came down and let my coat into the lake; but I don't see how my pocketbook could get out of the coat."

"I don't believe the money was in the pocket," added the ferryman.

"Yes, it was," persisted Mr. Randall.

"I don't see how it could fall out of the pocket," said John Wilford.

"Nor I; but the money is gone," answered the bank director, with a vacant stare. "I'm ruined!"

"Well, I can't help it. I've done all I could for you. I tried to save it; and if I get the rheumatism for a month or two, it will be a bad job for me."

"Wasn't the pocketbook in the pocket when you picked up the coat?" asked Mr. Randall, walking up to the ferryman.

"How should I know?" replied John Wilford. "I gave you the coat just as I found it."

"I don't believe the pocketbook would sink," added the director.
"There was nothing but paper in it."

"Of course it wouldn't sink, then," interposed the owner of the vehicle in the ferry-boat.

"I don't think it would," said Mr. Randall.

"I know it wouldn't," protested the stranger. "I dropped my pocketbook into the lake once, and it floated ten minutes before I could get it again."

"Then it must be floating about on the water," added Lawry. "I will try to find it."

"I'll go with you," said Mr. Randall.

They got into the boat, and Lawry pulled about the spot where the coat had fallen into the water for half an hour without discovering the pocketbook.

"I suppose I must give it up," sighed the director.

"I'm sure it's not on the water," replied Lawry.

"Do you suppose it would sink?"

"I don't know; the gentleman in the ferry-boat says it wouldn't."

"Stop a minute, boy, and I will soon find out," continued the unfortunate loser of the money.

He took all the money and papers out of his wallet, and stuffed it with pieces of newspaper which Lawry gave him. Having thus prepared the wallet, which he said was of the same material as the lost pocketbook, he placed it on the surface of the water, holding his hand underneath to save it, in case the trial should result differently from his anticipations. It floated, and he removed his hand from under it to exhibit his confidence in the law he had tested.

"That's plain enough," said he. "My pocketbook hasn't gone to the bottom."

"It certainly has not," replied Lawry.

"Then where is it?—that's the next question."

"Are you sure it was in your pocket when you got into the ferry-boat?"

"Just as sure as I am that I sit here."

"You were very careless about your coat on board of the sloop."

"I know I was."

"I don't see how a man could throw down his coat with six thousand dollars in the pocket," said Lawry.

"I know I'm careless; but I'm so used to carrying money that I don't think much about it. I always carry it in a pocket inside of my vest," continued the director, putting his hand in the place indicated; "but this is a new vest, and hasn't any such pocket. Things don't look all right to me. Is the ferryman your father?"

"Yes, sir; he is."

"Well, the money's gone," added Mr. Randall. "We will go back to the ferry-boat."

"Did you find it?" asked John Wilford, as the bank director stepped into the bateau.

"No; but I'm certain it has not gone to the bottom."

"Where is it, then?"

"I don't know; can you tell me?"

Mr. Randall looked at the ferryman very sharply. His manner indicated that he had some suspicions.

"How can I tell you?" replied John Wilford.

"The money was in the coat pocket when you picked it up in the water—I know it was."

"Do you mean to say I took it out?" demanded the ferryman angrily.

"If you didn't, I don't see what has become of it."

"Do you mean to accuse my father of stealing?" said