MR. MCGUSHER IN TROUBLE.
The members of the clubs did not “turn out” very early on the morning
after the revels at the hotel. Neil Brandon was one of the last to
show himself on board of the Ocean-Born. He had sat in his solitary
state-room till long after midnight, thinking of the discovery he had
made that day. Neil Brandon, the mate of the Coriolanus, had stolen the
child from its parents on the Mississippi River. It did not help the
matter at all that Arthur McGusher claimed to be this child. He could
readily have believed there was some other Neil Brandon than his father
in the world, if his mother had not been so anxious that he should
avoid the Bilders. The New York swell might be the long-lost son of
Captain Bilder, for all he knew or cared; but he was troubled about his
dead father’s connection with the business.
Before he went to sleep, Neil had almost made up his mind to run back
to Belfast, the next morning, in the steamer, and confront Captain
Bilder, who doubtless would be able to satisfy his curiosity; but this
would be violating his mother’s expressed wish. He hoped Madam Brandon
would go to Bangor, as she threatened to do, for it did not seem to him
that he could wait till his return to Philadelphia, at the end of the
vacation, for an explanation of the mystery. He wanted to talk over
the subject with Berry Owen or Ben Lunder; but if his dead father had
done any mean or criminal act in his lifetime, his son ought to be the
last to bring reproach upon his memory by an exposure. While he was
thinking what he should do about it, he went to sleep without reaching
a decision.
The party breakfasted at their own hours with the other guests of the
hotel. At nine o’clock most of the young men had been to the table,
and were now busy in making preparations to continue the excursion
up the river. It was quite late when Mr. McGusher left his princely
apartments. In the office he heard that the clubs were to start in a
couple of hours, and he sent a servant to Captain Post of his steamer,
to have his craft in order, and ready to follow the Ocean-Born. Then
he went in to breakfast; and his heart leaped with emotion when he saw
Kate Bilder and three other members of the Dorcas Club at the table,
unattended by Captain Patterdale, Ben Lunder, or any other of the ogres
of the party. The girls were chatting in the merriest way over the
events of the preceding evening.
“Aw, good mawning, Miss Bildaw. I hope you are quite well this
mawning,” said the long-lost, with his usual flourish, as he seated
himself at the head of the table, on each side of which were two of the
young ladies.
“Quite well, I thank you, Mr. McGusher,” replied Kate, cheerfully, when
she saw that she could not escape without positive rudeness.
“It’s a delicious mawning,” added Mr. McGusher.
“Very pleasant, indeed; but all the yachtmen are grumbling because
there is no wind,” replied Kate.
“Like myself, you don’t depend upon the wind.”
“I think most young men need wind,” said Minnie Darling.
“Aw, but my steamaw goes by steam, you see,” replied Mr. McGusher,
delighted to find himself actually in conversation with some of the
young ladies.
“Does she, indeed!” exclaimed Minnie; and the other girls laughed.
“What a funny steamboat she must be!”
“Well, I suppose she is,” chuckled the long-lost; “but she don’t want
no wind, you see. She goes wight along, whethaw thaw is any wind or
not.”
“She is a very remarkable steamboat,” added Minnie.
“But the yachts cannot go up the river, if there is no wind,” suggested
Kate.
“Captain Brandon says he will tow them up,” added Nellie Patterdale.
“And I will tow the Dawcas Club,” said Mr. McGusher. “My steamaw is at
yaw sawvice.”
“We intend to row every inch of the way to Bangor,” replied Kate.
“Wow all the way to Bangaw!” exclaimed the gallant New Yorker. “That
would be hawwible! Those beauteous awms would be bwoken!”
“Mine will stand it, I know,” said Kate. “We are going as far as
Bucksport to-day; and all of us are invited to dine on board of the
Ocean-Born.”
“The Ocean-Born!” ejaculated Mr. McGusher, who evidently believed the
dinner was only a subterfuge to keep him out in the cold, though the
ladies were not to blame for it.
The long-lost was happy for half an hour, and during that time he
uttered a great many inanities, which pleased the gay girls not a
little. They were very willing to laugh at him, though they were vexed
when he intruded his society upon them at the table. For their own
amusement, though perhaps against their better judgment, they rather
encouraged him. When they rose from the table, Mr. McGusher strutted
and flourished more than ever. He gave himself up to bowing and
scraping.
“I am delighted to have met you, ladies. My steamaw will go up the
wiver--”
“And you’ll keep us in a quiver,” laughed Mollie Longimore.
“No, I hope not; but I trust we shall meet--”
“Where breezes come so soft and sweet.”
“Just so; that’s the place!” chuckled Mr. McGusher. “Where come so soft
and sweet the breezes--”
“Sighing though the pine-wood treeses,” added Mollie.
“Thanks, ladies! I’ll be there. My steamaw shall float--”
“Like a canary bird’s note--”
“Yes; like a canawy bawd’s note. Weally, ladies, you aw poets,” ogled
the long-lost. “I used to wite poetwy once. I’m vewy fond of poetwy.”
“Then you shall write us some, Mr. McGusher,” said Mollie. “Young
ladies are always fond of poetry.”
“But I twust I shall see more of you. My steamaw shall float at the
side of the fleet.” Mr. McGusher paused, for the last word would rhyme
with ‘sweet,’ and he hoped Mollie would supply another line; but she
did not.
“My steamaw shall float at the side of the fleet.
As I gaze at the wowers so faiaw and sweet.
Eh? How is that for a couplet?”
“Splendid, Mr. McGusher. Do give us some more,” replied Mollie.
“I will wite a long poem as we sail up the wiver. I will dedicate it to
the ladies of the Dawcas Club, and have it pwinted in the Bangaw papaws
when we awive,” gushed the long-lost, who thought some of these young
ladies must be desperately in love with him by this time.
“But we must get ready to start, girls,” said Mollie Longimore, who was
the leader of the Dorcas.
“You will pawmit me to see you again, I twust,” added Mr. McGusher.
“We shall be delighted to see you again,” replied Minnie. “By the way,
Mr. McGusher, did you say your steamer went by steam?”
“Of cawse it goes by steam. It wouldn’t be a steamaw if it didn’t go by
steam,” replied the long-lost, with a fascinating smile. “Shall I see
you on bawd of my steamaw--the Monogwam? She has a cabin--”
“Has she a boiler?” asked Minnie.
“A boilaw? Of cawse she has a boilaw. Whaw would she get haw steam, if
she didn’t have no boilaw, you see?”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t go on board of your steamer. I don’t like to
go where they have boilers: they are apt to explode,” replied Minnie,
gravely.
“Please to have the boiler taken out of her, Mr. McGusher,” pleaded
Mollie. “Only think, if it should burst!”
“It won’t bawst; I won’t allow it to bawst while you are on bawd. But I
will see you again to-day.”
“By-by,” said Mollie.
Mr. McGusher went up stairs to his elegant apartments with his heart
all in a flutter. He had known all along, if he could only get within
speaking distance of these young ladies, he should be able to make
an impression. The result proved that he was right. Four of them, at
least, had smiled upon him. He had been asked to write some poetry.
Here was his opportunity; and he would address it to that pretty Mollie
Longimore.
“I will wite a poem,” said he, stalking across his parlor. “I can wite
poetwy. I wondaw if that Billing Boundaw Ben can wite poetwy. It isn’t
evewy fellaw that can wite poetwy. Let me see:--
Softly o’er the swelling tide,
In our boats we sweetly wide.
That’s sooted to the occasion. No fellaw can beat that, not even
Longfellaw.
Gently woll the spawkling waves--
Waves--waves? What wymes with waves? Gwaves. No; gwaves won’t do for
such a jolly time. Slaves?
Gently woll the spawkling waves
’Neath the humblest of thy slaves,
In his barge that goes by steam,
While thine eyes so softly gleam:
Floating the Penobscot up;
Dash not fwom his lips the cup,
The cup of bliss he fain would quaff:
Do not at thy suppliant laugh.
Heaw me, as we float, dear Mollie--
Mollie, Mollie! What rhymes with Mollie? I see.
Heaw me as we float, deaw Mollie:
Banish all my melan_choly_.
Give me but one loving smile,
And, though wataws swell and bile,
Naught on awth will Awthur feaw,
With the smiling Mollie neaw.
Not so bad! I will finish it on bawd of my steamaw, when I have the
inspiwation of haw bwight eyes to help me.”
Doubtless it was better to postpone the poem, as the hour for sailing
was at hand. Thus far the poem was a success, in his opinion; and he
re-wrote it with ink before he packed his valise. He went down to the
office, paid his bill, and directed the porter to carry his baggage
down to the wharf.
All the members of the clubs were at the landing. The Ocean-Born had
come up to the pier for the managing agent and the surgeon. There was
hardly a breath of wind, and it was plain that the yachts could make no
headway going up the river against the tide, which would not turn for
three hours.
“It is no use to start in this sort of a hurricane,” said Sam Rodman,
of the Maud. “We shall only drift into the shoal water and get aground,
or go down the river when we want to go up.”
“Of course we can’t do anything without wind,” added Frank Norwood, of
the Alice.
“Why should you howl, jolly yachtman?” demanded Ben Lunder. “Yonder
comes the mighty commander of the Ocean-Born. Hear what he will say.”
“I will tow the yachts up the river,” said Neil Brandon. “That’s what
I’m here for.”
“You can’t tow the six yachts against this ebb tide,” replied Commodore
Montague.
“We can do it with two reefs in the fore-royal smoke-stack,” shouted
Ben.
“I think we can take along all the yachts, commodore; though I don’t
know how strong the current is.”
“It runs pretty swift through Bucksport Narrows.”
“I know I can keep the yachts from drifting down stream, at least; and
I hope to make three or four knots.”
“I beg yaw pawdon,” said Mr. McGusher, edging his way into the centre
of the crowd.
“Ah, my jolly maintopman!” cried Ben. “Now cast off your
foreto-bowline, swing too on your bob-scuttles, lighten up your
after-davits, and sail in!”
“I didn’t addwess myself to you, saw,” said Mr. McGusher, with a
withering sneer on his intellectual face. “I wish to see the commodaw.”
“I’m not the commo-daw, I’m the jack-daw.”
“I beg yaw pawdon, commodaw,” continued the charter party of the
Monogwam. “I beg leave to offaw the sawvices of my steamaw, to tow the
yachts up the wivaw.”
“I thank you, sir; but we have already secured the Ocean-Born for that
purpose,” replied Commodore Montague, rather coldly.
“But I hawd the Captain of the Ocean-Bawn say the tide was too strong
to tow all the yachts. The Monogwan shall tow pawt of them.”
“Thank you; but I think we shall not require her.”
“We can tow your six yachts,” added Neil.
“’Vast heavin’! Of course we can!” cried Ben. “If we can’t, we’ll
splice the topsail-boom, and take two half-hitches in the main brace!
If we can’t, I’ll take a line ashore, and drag them up to Bangor.”
“Who’s that coming?” said Ned Patterdale, as two gentlemen were seen in
a grove approaching the wharf.
“One of them is your father, Kate,” added Minnie Darling. “Perhaps he
has come to take you away. But you mustn’t go.”
“Who’s that with him?” asked Kate.
“It’s Mr. Beardsley,” said Ned.
“Deputy Sheriff Beardsley!” added Sam Rodman. “I wonder if he has come
after any of us!”
“I should be vewy happy to have you accept the sawvices of my steamaw,”
continued Mr. McGusher. “The captain of my steamaw, says she can
tow all the yachts, and not stwain hawself. The young ladies wish
me to join the pawty; and I will do all I can to make the excawsion
agweeable. I will twy to be agweeable myself.”
“Right! That’s a good fellow,” said Mr. Beardsley, tapping him on the
shoulder. “You are my prisoner!”
“Yaw pwisonaw!” exclaimed Mr. McGusher.
Captain Bilder had paused on the outside of the crowd, where Kate had
met him.
“That’s what I said,” added the deputy sheriff.
“Yaw pwisonaw! Do you mean to insult me?”
“If arresting you is insulting you, that’s just what I mean to do.”
“Awest me!”
“That’s the idea.”
“But, saw, this is irwegular.”
“I think not--perfectly regular. I hope you don’t object.”
“I do object, most pawsitively. I am engaged with this pawty on an
excawsion up the wivaw.”
“We’ll excuse you,” said some one in the crowd.
“The party will have to excuse you; and I’m glad to hear they are
willing to do so,” said the officer.
“Thaw’s some mistake.”
“I think not.”
“Why should you awest me? I am not a cwiminal. I’m a gentleman--fwom
New Yawk.”
“Can’t help it. I must arrest you.”
“Do you know who I am, saw?” demanded Mr. McGusher, as he threw back
his head, and gave the officer a crushing sneer.
“Well, my warrant says you are Arthur McGusher, now or formerly of New
York City.”
“No, saw; I am the only son of Captain Bildaw, of Belfast.”
“Are you, indeed! He does not seem to be aware of the fact.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Nonsense, you young monkey! If you ever say that again, I’ll pitch you
into the river,” interposed the ship-master, coming to the middle of
the ring. “I can stand anything but to be accused of being the father
of such an ape as you are.”
“Good gwacious, Captain Bildaw! Didn’t I bwing you the piece of cawd?”
“You did.”
“And didn’t I tell you a stwaight stowy?”
“Very straight,” laughed Captain Bilder.
“You wote to yaw fwiend Bawden Gween?”
“No, I didn’t. But I got an answer to the letter I did not write, which
surprised me not a little.”
“You did not wite to Bawden Gween!” gasped Mr. McGusher.
“I did not; at least, I did not write to him anything about you. I
sent my letter to the firm in New York. Borden Green does not live in
Goshen.”
“You have played a contemptible twick upon me, Captain Bildaw. I did
not expect this from my long-lost fawther.”
“He won’t own you,” said Mr. Beardsley. “Are you ready to go with me?”
“No, saw, I’m not weady.”
“Very well; then I shall have to put the twisters on you;” and the
deputy-sheriff produced a pair of handcuffs.
“I won’t! Nevaw! They peawce my soul!” groaned the swell. “Tell me that
this is a pwactical joke, got up by my fwiend, Mr. Lundaw.”
“Shiver my booms and bobstays!” cried Ben; “don’t call me your friend!
Anything but that. Don’t libel an old salt.”
“On what chawge am I to be awested?” asked the New Yorker, more mildly.
“On the charge of opening a letter and stealing therefrom a thousand
dollars, in two five-hundred dollar bills,” replied Mr. Beardsley. “It
will be my duty to hand you over to the United States officers.”
“It is false! What lettaw?” asked McGusher, whose face was very pale.
“You know all about it better than I do. Have you any money about you?”
“Of cawse I have. Do you expect a gentleman to go off on a vacation
without money?”
“Turn out your pockets. Let’s see what you have,” said the
matter-of-fact officer.
“Do you mean to sawch me?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Am I to submit to such an indignity?”
“You are to submit; and I must attend to the matter at once, before you
make any different arrangements.”
Mr. McGusher was searched in spite of his protest. A five-hundred
dollar bill, a hundred, several fifties, and some smaller bills were
found in his wallet; and Mr. Beardsley was cruel enough to take
possession of the whole amount.
“It’s a vewy hawd case,” said the culprit, as he wiped away the
tears which his misfortunes had brought to his eyes--he called them
misfortunes.
“I am ready to return to Belfast, Mr. McGusher,” added the sheriff.
“If you have any orders to give in regard to your steamer, now is your
time.”
“We will wetawn in haw, if you please.”
“All right: I don’t object.”
Before they could go on board of her, a buggy, containing a lady and
gentleman, descended the slope to the wharf.
“What have you done, Captain Bilder?” asked Mrs. Banford, for she was
the lady in the buggy.
“I have caused Arthur McGusher to be arrested for opening that letter,”
replied the ship-master.
“You needn’t have troubled yourself,” replied the lady. “The letter was
addressed to me, not to you.”
“I am aware of that. But when you charge me with opening it, I think I
shall be able to produce the one who did open it.”
“Good gwacious!” groaned Mr. McGusher, as he recognized the voice of
Mrs. Banford, “whaw did she come fwom?”
“If you have taken him up, I command you to let him go!” said Mrs.
Banford, in a tone suited to the words she uttered.
“I think not. He opened the letter and took out the money,” answered
the deputy sheriff. “I shall be able to produce one of the bills, which
I found upon him, and the other is at a bank in Bangor.”
“No matter for that, sir. The letter was addressed to me, and the money
was mine,” added the lady, fiercely.
“Did you authorize him to open the letter?” asked the officer.
“I did,” replied she; but probably she did not speak the truth.
“Then, if you testify that you did at his trial, I dare say he will be
acquitted.”
“You know this young man, it seems, Mrs. Banford,” said Captain Bilder.
“I do.”
“And you sent him here to assert his claim that he is my son?”
“No, sir; I did not.”
“But you did. You wrote the letter which he brought to me,” added
Captain Bilder, somewhat excited.
“I haven’t another word to say about it,” answered Mrs. Banford, with
assumed dignity.
“But don’t let him awest me, mothaw,” pleaded Mr. McGusher, whose
spirit seemed to be entirely broken.
“Mother!” exclaimed the captain, rather startled by this involuntary
confession.
“He is not my son,” said Mrs. Banford: “I am his father’s wife.”
“That indeed. I think I begin to see through this business. I
understand it better than I did. You managed this little scheme,”
continued Captain Bilder.
“He is not your son. That’s enough for now. He may as well have one
beggar for his father as another,” added Mrs. Banford, bitterly.
“Mr. Beardsley, I must ask you to keep an eye on this lady. I shall
enter a complaint against her for conspiracy,” said the ship-master.
“Conspiracy against a beggar!” sneered Mrs. Banford, who was evidently
a strong-minded woman.
She was permitted to go on board of the Monogram with Mr. McGusher, in
charge of the officer; and she immediately departed for Belfast. The
poem was never delivered to Mollie Longimore.