AFTER MIDNIGHT.
Although it was after eleven o'clock, Captain Fishley and his wife were
still up, waiting for the arrival of the distinguished guest.
"Now, remember," said Squire Fishley, as I drove into the yard, and the
captain came out at the back door.
"Don't be at all afraid of me," I replied.
"How are you, Moses?" exclaimed Captain Fishley, as, by the light of the
lantern he carried in his hand, he saw that his brother had arrived.
"Pretty well, I thank you; but very wet and cold," answered the squire,
shivering.
"Well, I am glad to see you," added the postmaster, as he took the hand
of the guest and helped him out of the wagon.
The squire was so chilled that he could hardly stand. So far as I could
judge, he had entirely recovered from his debauch. The captain led the
way into the house, and I followed them with the trunk and the mail-bag.
Mrs. Fishley bestowed a cordial welcome upon her brother-in-law, and
placed the rocking-chair before the stove, in which there was still a
good fire.
"Why, you are as wet as though you had been in the river!" cried Mrs.
Fishley.
"It has been raining very hard," replied the squire, casting an anxious
glance at me.
"What made you so late?" asked the captain. "I expected you by nine
o'clock."
"I had some friends with me who were on the way to New Orleans, and I
waited to see them off," answered the senator, with a shudder--not at
the thought of his friends, perhaps, but on account of the chill which
pervaded his frame.
"You'll catch your death a cold, Moses," interposed Mrs. Fishley. "I
think you'd better take something, to guard against the chills."
"Yes; I'll give you a glass of corn whiskey, mixed with hot water,"
added the captain, taking up the suggestion.
"No, I think I won't take any," replied the squire, shaking his head.
"Hadn't you better?" persisted Mrs. Fishley. "It'll do you a heap of
good."
"Not to-night, thank you!"
"I don't believe in drinkin' liquor when a body's well; but when they're
wet through, and shiverin' with cold as you are, Moses, it is good for
'em--only as a medicine, you know."
But not even as a medicine could Squire Fishley be induced to partake of
any of the fire-water. He had drank corn whiskey enough for one day; and
I think at that moment he loathed the thought of drinking it. He
compromised the matter, being a politician, by offering to drink a dish
of hot tea, which, I doubt not, was just as good for him as the "ardent"
would have been.
I warmed my fingers a little at the stove, and then went out to take
care of Darky. I stirred my own blood by the exercise of rubbing him
down; and, when I left him, nicely blanketed, I think he was as
comfortable as the squire in the house, and I am sure his head did not
ache half so badly. My work for the night was done; but, before I went
into the house, I could not help taking the present which the senator
had given me from my pocket and examining it. I had suspected, from the
first, that it was a bank bill. I thought that the squire had given me a
dollar or two to deepen the impression upon my memory, and I had already
come to the conclusion that he was a more liberal man than his brother;
as, indeed, he could afford to be, for he was said to be quite wealthy.
I took the little roll from my pocket while up in the hay-loft, where I
had gone to give Darky his last feed. It was wet, but the paper was new
and strong, and had sustained no serious injury. I unrolled the bills,
and was astonished to find there were not less than half a dozen of
them. As they had apparently just come from the bank, they stuck
together very closely. The first bill was a one, the next a five; and by
this time I was amazed at the magnitude of the sum, for I had never
before had six dollars of my own in my hand.
I looked further, and was utterly overwhelmed when I found that each of
the other four bills was a ten. Forty-six dollars! Squire Fishley had
certainly made a mistake. He could not have intended to give me all that
money. Befuddled and befogged by the whiskey and the cold bath, he must
have forgotten that the roll contained forty-six dollars, instead of two
or three, which was probably all he intended to give me. I should have
felt rich with a couple of dollars; but actually possessed of the sum in
my hand, I should have been a John Jacob Astor in my own estimation.
The money was not mine. The squire had not intended to give me all that,
and it would not be right for me to keep it. I could not help thinking
that if I chose to keep the money, I might do so with impunity. I had
the squire's secret, and he would not dare to insist upon my returning
the bills; but this would be mean, and I concluded that I should feel
better with the two or three dollars fairly obtained than if I took
advantage of the obvious blunder of the giver.
"What have you got there, Buck?"
I started as though a rifle ball had struck me. Turning, I saw Ham
Fishley standing at the head of the stairs, and I wondered how he had
been able to come up the steps without my hearing him. I had been
intensely absorbed in the contemplation of the bills, and was lost to
everything around me. If I had heard any noise, I supposed it was Darky.
I saw that Ham had taken off his boots, and put on a pair of old
rubbers, which explained why I had not heard his step on the stairs.
"What have you got there, Buck?" repeated he, as I did not answer the
first question.
"I've got a little money," I replied.
"Where did you get it?"
"I didn't steal it?"
"Well, I didn't say you did. I only asked you a civil question."
"It's some money I made on my own account," I replied, as composedly as
I could.
"Have you done with that lantern? I want it," he continued, either
satisfied with my answer, or too wet and cold to pursue the inquiry any
further.
I gave him the lantern, and followed him down stairs, greatly annoyed by
the discovery he had made, for I could not help thinking that he had
been watching me, perhaps to obtain another opportunity of settling the
old score. I closed the stable door, and went into the house. The
family, including the squire, had gone to bed. Ham, with the lantern in
his hand, passed through the entry into the shop. I lighted a lamp in
the kitchen, and went up to my room, which was in the L over the store.
I took off my wet clothes, put on a dry shirt, and got into bed.
Though it was after midnight, I could not at once go to sleep. I could
not help thinking of the stirring events of the evening, for never
before had so much happened to me in so brief a period. I was beginning
to gape fearfully, and to lose myself, when the whinings of Bully at the
side door disturbed me. My canine friend usually slept in the barn; but
he appeared to have been out late, like the rest of us, and had been
locked out. He was a knowing dog, and the light in the store had
probably assured him that some one was up, or he would not have had the
impudence to apply for admission at that unseemly hour.
I had just become comfortably warm in bed, and did not like the idea of
getting up, even for the accommodation of Bully, though I was willing to
do so rather than oblige the poor fellow to stay out in the cold all
night. I waited a while to see if Ham would not have the grace to admit
my friend; but the whining continued, and reluctantly I jumped out of
bed. Putting on my socks and pants, I crept down stairs, so as not to
disturb the squire, who occupied the front chamber.
In the lower entry, I found that the door which led to the shop was
partly open; and I looked in as I went along, for I wondered what Ham
was about at that late hour. He was sorting the mail, which I had
brought up from Riverport, and I concluded that he intended to lie abed
late in the morning. I paused a moment at the door, and soon became
satisfied that he was doing something more than sorting the mail. He was
not ten feet from me, and I could distinctly observe his operations.
I should not have staid an instant after I found what he was doing if
his movements had not excited my attention. He had lighted the large
hanging lamp over the counter where the mail was sorted; and, as I was
about to pass on to the relief of Bully, I saw him hold a letter up to
the light, as if to ascertain its contents. I could not entirely make
out the direction upon it; but, as he held it up to the lamp, peering in
at the end, I saw that the capital letter commencing the last name was
an L. I concluded that this must be the letter for which Miss Larrabee
had inquired, and which she had declared was to contain forty dollars.
Ham glanced around the store; but, as I was in the darkness of the
entry, and concealed by the door, he did not see me. He was nervous and
shaky in his movements. He held the letter up to the light again, and
having apparently satisfied himself that it contained a valuable
enclosure, he broke it open. I confess that I was filled with horror,
and, of the two, I was probably more frightened than he was. I saw him
take several bank bills from the paper and thrust them into his pocket.
I had never considered Ham capable of an act so wicked as this. I was
shocked and confounded. I did not know what to do. Badly as he had
treated me, I would gladly have saved him from such a gross crime as
that he was committing.
What should I do? What could I do? I was on the point of rushing into
the store, telling him I had seen the flagrant act, and begging him to
undo the deed by restoring the money to the letter, and sealing it
again. At that instant he lighted a match, and set the letter on fire. I
was too late. He took the burning paper in his hand, carried it to the
stove, and threw it in. He waited a moment till it was consumed, and
then returned to the mail counter. The envelope still lay there; he
carried that to the stove, and saw it ignited from the burning letter.
[Illustration: HAM FISHLEY'S CRIME--Page 86.]
Ham's nefarious work appeared to be finished; and, without being able to
decide what I should do, I hurried back to my chamber, even forgetting
all about poor Bully in my agitation. I heard the step of Ham a moment
later. The whining of the dog attracted his attention, and he let him in
before he went to his room. My heart beat as though I had robbed the
mail myself. I trembled for Ham. Though he had always been overbearing
and tyrannical in his demeanor towards me; though he had taken a mean
and cowardly advantage of me that evening; though he was a young man
whom I could not like,--yet I had lived in the same house with him
for several years, and known him ever since I came to Torrentville. I
did not wish anything so bad to come upon him as that he was bringing
upon himself. It was sad and pitiful enough to be mean and tyrannical,
without being a thief and a robber.
I really pitied Ham, and if he had not destroyed the letter, I should
have gone to him, and begged him to retrace his steps. I knew him too
well to take such a course now, and I lay thinking of his crime, till,
overcome with weariness, I went to sleep.