ANOTHER FAILURE.
In spite of the late hours they had kept the night before, Sam and his
four friends made their appearance in the harbor bright and early.
They were all in the best of spirits, for they believed that at last
they had succeeded in disposing of "that ar Bobby Jennings;" but still
they could not help casting frequent and anxious glances toward the
bay, as if they every moment expected to see the fisher-boy sail into
the harbor in a boat as far superior to the Go Ahead No. 2 as she was
better than the scow Sam had sunk the day before. The bully knew that
his rival had a great many friends, and he was afraid that, after
all, he might be able to hold his own, in spite of all his efforts to
disable him. The fear of being punished for what they had done did not
trouble the members of the Crusoe band in the least; they knew that
their chief had managed the affair so carefully that nothing could be
proved against them.
The hours wore slowly away, and finally those of the ferry-boys
who knew nothing of what had taken place during the night began to
make inquiries concerning the fisher-boy, who was generally one of
the first to make his appearance in the harbor. No one had seen him
that morning, and it seemed to be the general impression that he was
afraid to trust his fine boat among his rivals again--an idea that was
confirmed by Sam and all the members of his band.
"I've been a-lookin' an' waitin' fur him," said the bully, "an' I'm
mighty sorry he don't come, fur I've got a trick fixed fur him. I told
him we had seed him here jest often enough, an' may be he's goin' to
quit ferryin'."
Sam would willingly have given every cent he expected to earn that day
to know what Bob thought about it, and what he was going to do; and
once he even thought seriously of making some excuse for calling upon
him. But, upon reflection, he came to the conclusion that his safest
plan was to keep away from his rival, and await the issue of events
with as much patience as he could command. He was not kept long in
suspense, however, for about ten o'clock he was given an opportunity
to learn all he wanted to know. He was on the point of starting across
the harbor with a load of passengers, when the village constable,
accompanied by the fisher-boy, suddenly appeared upon the wharf and
ordered him to stop.
"Gentlemen," said the officer, addressing the passengers, "you'll have
to go across in some other boat. I want this ferry-boy."
Sam comprehended the situation in an instant; and he was smart
enough to know that every thing depended upon the manner in which he
behaved himself during the next few minutes. He had all the while
been satisfied that the fisher-boy would make a "powerful fuss," as
soon as he discovered his loss, and Sam had so often gone over the
part he intended to perform, that he could act it quite naturally.
Upon hearing the words uttered by the constable, he looked up with an
expression of astonishment and alarm that would have staggered almost
any one; and which went a long way toward convincing the officer that
he had got hold of the wrong man, and that he would be obliged to look
further for the culprit.
"Come ashore with that boat, Sam," said the constable. "I am in a great
hurry!"
"Do you want me, Mr. Grimes?" asked the bully, with well-feigned
amazement. "What have I been a doin'?"
"No nonsense, now, but come ashore with that boat," repeated the
officer, sternly.
Sam did not carry matters too far, as a great many guilty boys would
have done, but without further parley, he brought his yawl alongside
the wharf, and assisted his passengers to climb out. Then turning
to one of the ferry-boys, and requesting to keep an eye on his boat
during his absence, he clambered upon the wharf and stood before the
constable. The latter looked him squarely in the eye for a moment, as
if trying to read his very thoughts, and then said, slowly:
"You're a nice boy, aint you?"
"Now, why don't you tell me what I've been a doin'?" asked Sam, never
once flinching before the officer's steady gaze. "I haint been a doin'
nothin'!"
"You know better," said the constable, savagely. "Where's that boat you
stole from Bob Jennings last night? What have you done with it?"
Upon hearing this question, Sam stepped back as suddenly as if the
constable had aimed a blow at him, and, opening his eyes and puffing
out his cheeks, he stood looking at the officer as if he could scarcely
believe that he had heard aright. Then he turned and looked at Bob;
and one short glance was sufficient to convince him that his last
night's work had ruined the fisher-boy as completely as he could have
desired. Bob's face was very pale, and wore such a hopeless, despairing
expression, that Sam could scarcely refrain from manifesting his
exultation.
"O, now, you needn't look so mightily astonished," said Mr. Grimes. "I
know all about it."
"What have I done with it?" repeated Sam, as if he just began to
comprehend the officer's previous question. "Why, Bobby, has somebody
stole your skiff--that nice little craft of your'n, that new one?"
"That's played out!" said the constable. "You're acting pretty well,
Sam, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes. I'm too old a hand at
this business, you know. If you won't tell me what you have done with
that boat, I'll take you before the 'squire, and have you put in jail."
"In jail!" echoed Sam, now beginning to be really alarmed.
"Yes, sir, in jail, in the lock-up, and from there to State's prison."
"Well, I can't help it," whined Sam, drawing down the corners of his
mouth, and rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. "I don't know nothing
about that ar boat! You don't 'spose I'd be mean enough to steal that
nice little craft of your'n, do you, Bobby?"
"Come along, then," said the officer, without giving the fisher-boy
time to reply. "I'll see if the 'squire can't find means to make you
tell what we want to know. You might as well own up at once, and save
trouble! You didn't see me watching you last night, did you?"
"No I didn't," replied Sam; "an' I know you wasn't a watchin' me,
'cause if you had been, you wouldn't arrest me now. You would know that
I was in bed."
The constable was trying to frighten Sam into making a confession,
but he failed completely. On the way to the 'squire's office, the
bully repeatedly protested his innocence; assured the officer that Bob
could not point to a firmer friend in the village than he had always
shown himself to be, and he even had the impudence to appeal to the
fisher-boy to substantiate all he said. But Bob declined to have any
thing to say to him. He was as firmly convinced of Sam's guilt as if
he had seen him take the skiff; and he did not believe that a boy who
could deliberately perform so mean an act ought to be noticed by any
respectable person.
Sam had been arrested by the advice of Mr. Graves, to whom Bob had told
his story as soon as he discovered his loss. The boat-builder, being
alarmed for the safety of his money, knowing, as he did, that Bob could
never raise the funds to pay off the note, unless he had a boat to earn
it with, had interested himself in the case, and hired a lawyer to
manage it for him.
The affair having become noised abroad by this time, the court-room
was crowded, and when Sam was brought in by the constable, he had
the satisfaction of seeing that he had very few friends among the
spectators. Nearly every one had a kind word for the fisher-boy, while
if they took any notice at all of Sam, it was only to scowl at him
very savagely. Tom Newcombe was there, and he was one of the first to
offer consolation and encouragement.
"Don't look so down-hearted, Bob," he whispered.
"I can't help it," replied the fisher-boy, sorrowfully. "I am utterly
ruined!"
"Ruined!" repeated Tom, "I can't see it. Have you forgotten the ten
dollars we sent off yesterday?"
"No; but I am almost afraid it won't amount to any thing."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "Do you suppose that if there was any chance
for failure I would have invested my money in it? Let the skiff go. In
a week you will be able to buy a better one."
"Order in the court-room!" commanded the 'squire, and this put a stop
to the conversation.
Sam Barton seated himself on a table that stood in one corner of the
room, and settling into a comfortable position, patiently waited to
hear what the judge had to say to him. A stranger would have thought
him a spectator rather than a prisoner. The air of solemnity with
which every thing was conducted, and the look of sternness assumed by
the 'squire, did not trouble him in the least. Upon being questioned,
he declared himself innocent of the charge, and defied the constable,
Bob Jennings, or any body else, to prove that he had ever laid a hand
upon the boat. Unfortunately for the fisher-boy, and the cause of
justice, this was the difficulty; for what little evidence offered was
all in Sam's favor. True, Bob repeated all the threats the bully had
made about driving him out of the harbor, and away from Fishertown,
but that did not prove that he had stolen the boat, for Sam's father
testified that his son was in bed and fast asleep at eight o'clock.
This convinced some of the spectators that Sam was innocent; for the
fisher-boy said that he had seen the Go Ahead No. 2 lying safe at her
wharf at nine o'clock. The truth of the matter was, that as late as
eleven, Sam Barton was wide awake and full of mischief, having never
been near his bed that night. But Mr. Barton did not know this, and he
had told only what he believed to be the truth. Sam slept in a shed
adjoining the house, and when he had any thing unusual on hand for the
night, he always made a great show of going to bed; and then, when
every thing was quiet, he would slip out and join his companions.
The culprit was cross-questioned by the lawyers for half an hour, but
all to no purpose. He stoutly denied all knowledge of the boat, and,
besides, he could not be made to contradict himself. Finally, after
a long consultation with the constable and Mr. Graves, the 'squire
dismissed him, telling him that he was satisfied, and that he was sorry
to have caused him so much trouble.
"That's all mighty nice," said the bully, to himself, when he reached
the street. "Mr. Grimes said I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes,
an' I guess he'll find that he can't pull none over mine, neither. I'm
sharper'n they think fur. I'll jest keep watch of that constable an'
Bobby Jennings, fur I know what they're up to as well as they do."
"I am sorry that we can't do any thing for you, Bob," said Mr. Graves,
as soon as Sam had taken his departure.
"So am I," replied the fisher-boy; "but, after all, it might have been
worse. I never allow a little thing like this to discourage me, and
I'll soon show Sam Barton that it is not in his power to trouble me
long!"
This remark was made in the presence of several persons, who had
lingered about the court-room to talk the matter over, and there was
not one among them who did not believe that Bob was the spunkiest
fellow he had ever seen. The fisher-boy's vanity was flattered by
several remarks he happened to overhear; such as, "You can't discourage
him. He will make his mark in the world one of these days!" "Yes," said
another, "he is all grit. He will succeed in any thing he undertakes."
Now, these men supposed that Bob was relying upon himself; but,
had they known any thing about the lottery, and been aware of the
fact that it was his intention to wait for his twenty-five hundred
dollars, before he made a single effort to extricate himself from his
difficulties, they might not have been so lavish in their praise.
During the next two weeks there were three boys in the village who
lived in a state of constant fear and excitement. Bob Jennings was
totally unfit for work; indeed, he grew more and more indolent every
day he lived. He spent the most of his time in wandering about the
wharves, watching Sam Barton, and living over, in imagination, the life
he intended to lead as soon as his fortune arrived. He was not half
so much troubled by the loss of his fine skiff as by the fear that
something would happen to destroy all his bright hopes. The letter,
in which he had sent his money to those gentlemen in Baltimore, might
miscarry, or the whole thing might turn out to be a humbug, and then
what would become of him? With a debt of twenty-six dollars hanging
over him, with not a cent in his purse with which to supply his present
necessities, and without a boat to carry on his business, what could
he do? The fisher-boy would become frightened when he took this view
of the situation, and then he would hunt up his friend Tom Newcombe,
to make inquiries concerning the expected letter, and to listen to his
words of encouragement.
"Isn't it time that money was here?" he would ask.
"Yes; and I'm looking for a letter every day. But don't be in a hurry.
Those gentlemen are, no doubt, full of business, and they will write to
us just as soon as they can find the time."
Bob always departed satisfied, and with renewed hopes that in a day or
two, at the very farthest, his bright dreams would all be realized.
Sam Barton was also in a fever of excitement. He was not ignorant of
the fact that every move he made, both night and day, was closely
watched by his rival, and it kept him in constant fear. Of course he
was obliged to give the cave a wide berth; but every night one of the
members of the band visited their hiding-place, with provisions for the
dog, and to stow away any new articles that were collected during the
day. Their outfit was now complete, and some of the boys thought it
high time they were beginning their cruise; but how should they elude
the vigilance of Bob Jennings? This question was discussed by the band
every day for two weeks, without reaching any satisfactory conclusion.
Tom Newcombe was another very uneasy boy. He spent a small portion of
his time in attending to his business, and wasted many an hour in
running to the post-office to make inquiries concerning the letter
that was to bring him a check for five thousand dollars. But the
postmaster's invariable answer was--
"Nothing for you yet!"
"O, now, there ought to be," Tom would say. "Please look again."
"Your father's box is empty," the postmaster would reply. "If you are
really in want of a letter, and can not possibly do without it, I'll
write you one myself."
Whenever the postmaster said this, Tom would leave the office in a
terrible rage. In fact, he was very cross at all times; and, if every
thing did not work to his entire satisfaction, he would storm and scold
at a great rate.
From the post-office he would go to the ship-yard and look at his
yacht. A strong force of men were at work upon her, and under their
skillful hands Tom saw the little vessel grow into shape, until, at
last, he found before him what he considered to be the very perfection
of marine architecture. He soon found that he was not the only one
who admired her, for the report having been circulated through the
village that Mr. Graves was building the most magnificent little
vessel that had ever been seen about Newport, crowds of boys visited
the ship-yard to satisfy themselves of the truth of the story. Johnny
Harding, especially, spent an hour or two there every day, watching
the progress of the work, and trying in vain to ascertain who was to
be the happy owner of the yacht; but Mr. Graves never said any thing
on this point, for Tom thought it best to keep the affair very quiet;
and Johnny, to his great disappointment, could learn nothing positive.
He had his suspicions, however, and, under the circumstances, that
was not to be wondered at. Every time he visited the yard, he saw Tom
strutting about, examining every thing with a critical eye, and the
very dignified manner in which he treated all his attempts to enter
into conversation with him convinced Johnny that there was "something
up." More than that, Tom could not help hinting, very mysteriously
that those of his acquaintances who had deserted him so shamefully
would soon have occasion to repent of what they had done; and Johnny
would have been dull indeed, if he had not been able to understand that
something unusual was going on.
The nearer the yacht approached completion, the more impatient Tom
became to receive some tidings from the gentlemen in Baltimore. Every
mail that arrived found him at the post-office, from which he always
came away disappointed. He was becoming desperate. In a few more days
the Storm King would be ready for her trial trip, and then Mr. Graves
would want his money. If he did not have it ready for him--But Tom
would not allow himself to look upon the dark side of the picture,
or to think of what would be the consequences if his prize did not
arrive in time to enable him to keep the promise he had made to the
boat-builder. With his usual obstinacy, he clung to the belief that he
had found the road to fortune, and that the "something," which he had
waited for so long had at last "turned up."
"I am afraid we are in a bad scrape!" said the fisher-boy to him,
one day. "I don't believe those men are honest. Your father doesn't
generally allow business letters to go unanswered for two or three
weeks, does he?"
"Well, no!" replied Tom. "But, then, you see his business is not so
extensive as that of the men in Baltimore. Just think what an army of
agents they must have; and how many letters they must receive every
day! I'll drop them a line, requesting them to hurry up."
Tom went to work at once, and that same evening a long letter
was dispatched to the proprietors of the lottery, containing the
information that Tom had sent them ten dollars for the lucky package
of tickets that was to draw a prize of five thousand dollars over and
above all expenses, and that he would be greatly obliged to them if
they would send on the money at once. He further informed them that
they were losing a great deal of business by their delay; but that was
something he could not help, for he could not begin to act as their
agent until he should be able to show the prize.
This letter was sent off on Saturday. On the Monday following, Mr.
Graves came to the office, when Tom, for a wonder, happened to be at
work, and beckoned him out.
"The Storm King will be ready for sea one week from to-day," said he,
"and I would like to know if you intend to invite any of your friends
to accompany you on the trial trip; if you do, I'll see that the
provisions are supplied for the occasion."
"O, no," replied Tom, quickly. "I have my reasons for wishing to keep
the whole thing a secret for a few days longer."
"I didn't know but your father might want to see the boat before he
buys her," began Mr. Graves.
"O, now, never mind my father," drawled Tom. "He's got nothing to do
with it! I am bossing this job myself! When the yacht is ready for
sea, you can man her with a crew of your own, and I'll go with you to
see how she behaves. If she suits me, I'll pay you for her and take
charge of her at once."
"O, I know you will be pleased with her," said the boat-builder. "She
is the finest little craft about the village, if I do say it myself."
Mr. Graves went back to his ship-yard, and Tom slowly and thoughtfully
returned to the office. He was a good deal annoyed to learn that
his father had watched him very closely while he was talking to the
boat-builder. He looked at Tom curiously as he came in, and said:
"You and Mr. Graves are getting to be great friends lately. What is
going on?"
"O, nothing particular!" drawled Tom, in reply. "I was talking to him
about a boat."
"I think you have had enough to do with boats," said the merchant. "It
is time you were turning a little of your attention to something more
profitable, if you ever intend to be any body in the world."
"O, yes, that's always the way!" muttered Tom, as he seated himself at
his desk. "I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world. Every
thing I do is foolish and unprofitable. But just wait until the Storm
King is paid for, and I'll show father that some folks can make money
as well as others."
Four days more passed, and Tom's nervousness increased to such a degree
that it began to attract the attention of Mr. Newcombe, who wondered if
the confinement of the office was not injuring his son's health. Bob
Jennings was in much the same predicament; and on Friday evening he
came to Tom with a very long face, and told him that the last cent of
his ten dollars had been used to feed the family, and that if the prize
did not arrive that night he would be utterly ruined; no provisions on
hand, and no boat with which to earn money to buy any.
"Now, don't talk about being ruined," said Tom, impatiently. "You're
always croaking, and I can't see the use of it. We'll get a letter this
very night. It _must_ come; because when those gentlemen in Baltimore
find out that they are losing business every day by neglecting us, they
will begin to bestir themselves."
Four o'clock, the hour at which the evening mail arrived, found them
at the post-office; and to their intense delight the postmaster handed
out the long expected letter. Tom knew it was the one he wanted, for
he could see that it had been mailed at Baltimore. He could not speak,
for his heart was too full for utterance; but he gave Bob a knowing
wink, and started for the wharf on a keen run. As he was passing by the
ship-yard, he ran against Mr. Graves.
"How's the yacht?" asked Tom.
"Finished from main truck to kelson," was the reply. "I am two days
ahead of time. You can go to sea in her to-morrow if you wish."
"All right!" answered Tom. "You may expect me at nine o'clock. I've
got your money in my pocket." Tom being in a great hurry to read his
letter, left Mr. Graves very unceremoniously, and kept on to the wharf,
followed by the fisher-boy, who now looked more like the Bob Jennings
of old than he had done for many a day.
Tom never once slackened his pace until he reached an unfrequented
part of the wharf, where he sat down and pulled the letter out of his
pocket.
"What did I tell you, Bob?" he asked, in a husky whisper, for he was so
excited that he could scarcely speak plainly. "Here's our fortune at
last. You are not sorry now that you risked your five dollars, are you?"
"Of course not," replied Bob, in the same excited whisper. "I'm glad of
it."
"It takes me to get up schemes, don't it?" continued Tom. "Now, there
isn't another boy in Newport who would have thought of this."
"Open the letter," interrupted Bob; "I am in a great hurry to see that
money!"
"O, you open it," replied Tom, handing the letter to the fisher-boy,
and throwing himself at full length on the wharf. "I can enjoy it so
much better if you read it." Bob tore open the envelope, and took out
the letter, expecting, of course, that the first thing that met his eye
would be the check for five thousand dollars. But to his astonishment,
no such document appeared. A few words were scrawled upon half a sheet
of soiled note paper, and Bob read them aloud, as follows:
We have made every effort to ascertain the whereabouts of your letter
containing the ten dollars, but without success. We are sorry to say
that it has, no doubt, miscarried.
Send on ten dollars more for the lucky package.
Tom started up and looked at Bob without speaking.