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.