A HUNGRY SKIPPER.
Capt. Trustleton went over the case; but he was unable to convince
Obed Swikes that his boy took the money. He was simply determined not
to accept the explanation. It was a good deal more convenient for him
to believe that Wade Brooks had done the deed. The wallet was in his
possession, and he must have taken it.
“Open the wallet, Mr. Swikes, and let us see if the money is all
there,” suggested Capt. Trustleton. “You have the wallet; but there may
be no money in it.”
Swikes was appalled at the very suggestion. He took the wallet from his
pocket, and opened it. His eyes lighted up with joy when he saw the two
rolls of bills.
“How much was there in the wallet?” asked the captain.
“Just two hundred dollars,” replied Swikes, as he took the two rolls
of bills from the wallet. “If you will count one of these, I will the
other.”
The captain took the one handed to him, and proceeded to count it.
“Just one hundred dollars,” he replied, when he had finished it.
“And there is just one hundred in this one,” added Swikes.
“Now, Matthew, why did you divide the money into two parts?” demanded
the captain sharply, as he turned upon Matt.
“I was going to give half-- I didn’t divide it! I didn’t have the
money. I didn’t know the money was stolen!” protested Matt, recovering
his self-possession a little too late.
“You were going to give half to Alonzo, was what you began to say,”
added Capt. Trustleton. “Now, Mr. Swikes, I regard this as a plain
case. You find the money divided into two parts, just as Brooks said.
Your boy was surprised into saying he was going to give half, before
he changed his tone. If Brooks stole the money, he had no motive for
dividing it in this way. Let us look at it on another tack. Whether
your boy and mine set fire to Garlick’s barn, I don’t know: if they
did, that was a good reason why they should clear out as they did. We
find these boys here ten miles from home. They say they were going down
to the Sound, two miles farther. We find in the boat nothing to eat.
My boy has no money. Neither of them is fool enough to start on such
a trip without food or money. It is more likely to me that your boy
took the money from the closet, to enable them to pay the expenses of
the trip to New York, than that Brooks took it and my boy is just as
guilty as yours. I don’t want to believe this, but it is forced home to
my mind.”
“You are hard on my boy, Capt. Trustleton,” said Swikes, shaking his
head.
“No harder than I am on my own son. I think that both of them have been
bad boys, and it is better for us to look the matter square in the face
than it is to blind our own eyes to the facts. But it is almost time
for that train home; and we can settle the matter just as well there as
here. But what shall be done with this boat?”
“I suppose Wade Brooks can take it back,” replied Swikes.
It was settled that Wade should sail the boat back to Midhampton, while
the two fathers and sons returned by the train.
“And, when he does get back, I mean to have him taken up and sent to
the House of Correction for stealing that money,” said Swikes bitterly.
“I think if you get the case into court, you will be more likely to
send your own son there. I have no doubt Matthew is the thief,” replied
the captain. “Why do you keep your money in an open closet, and then
tell a boy like Wade Brooks where it is?”
“I didn’t tell where it was,” added Swikes.
“How did he know, then?”
“I didn’t know; I had no idea there was any money in the closet. If you
please, Mr. Swikes, I should like some breakfast before I sail the boat
home,” said Wade very respectfully.
“You won’t git nothin’ till you git home,” replied the stingy farmer.
“Do you suppose I’m going to spend money to feed you down here?”
Swikes thought a thing so absurd ought not to be expected of him; and
he did not give it a second thought.
“I didn’t have any supper last night, as I told you; and I only found
some crusts of brown bread when I got up in the night, and I’m almost
starved,” pleaded poor Wade, whose stomach was protesting violently
against the injustice done to it.
“I can’t help it. You hadn’t any business to come down here.”
“I didn’t come of my own accord; and if I hadn’t come, you never would
have got your money again,” added Wade. “I can’t sail the boat back
without something to eat.”
“Then you may walk back, for I won’t pay your fare on the cars,” said
Swikes, who was by all odds the meanest man in Midhampton.
“I think it is a hard case, my lad,” interposed Capt. Trustleton; “and
here is a dollar to buy your breakfast.”
“I thank you, sir! I am very much obliged to you, and I hope that some
time I may be able to do something for you,” said Wade warmly.
“He don’t need all that money, Capt. Trustleton, and you will spoil the
boy,” growled Swikes, who was disgusted with this prodigality.
The captain and his son walked towards the station, followed by Matt;
but Swikes lingered behind for some reason.
“Here, Wade Brooks, give me that dollar,” said the skinflint. “I ain’t
a-going to have no sich waste of money. Here is five cents to buy some
crackers for you; and that’s enough till you git home.”
“Capt. Trustleton gave the money to me, and I am going to keep it,”
replied Wade stoutly; and he meant what he said.
“No, you ain’t a-going to keep it nuther! You’ll fool it all away; and
it will pay my fare down and back on the cars. So give it to me this
minute.”
“I won’t do it, Obed Swikes,” said Wade. “That dollar won’t pay no fare
of yours to-day.”
“If you don’t give it to me this minute, I’ll shake it out of your
hide!”
“Shake away! You don’t get that dollar out of me as long as I can hold
on to it.”
Wade retreated to the stern of the boat, which was out in the deep
water; and Swikes followed him.
When the boy had gone as far as he could, Swikes attempted to collar
him; but Wade dodged, and his persecutor, who was walking on the seat,
canted the boat so that he lost his balance, and rolled into the river.
But the water was not more than four feet deep; and, when he recovered
his footing, he walked up the steep incline to the shore. Matt saw this
accident to his father, and all the party hastened back.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Swikes?” asked the captain.
“That boy pushed me into the water,” replied the miser, blowing the
water out of his mouth, and shaking himself like a water-dog.
Capt. Trustleton looked at Wade when this charge was made against him;
but the boy offered no defence.
“What’s the trouble here, Brooks?” asked the captain.
“Didn’t I tell you that boy pushed me into the water? You needn’t ask
him any thing about it. He’ll lie to you if you do,” snarled Swikes.
“I don’t think Brooks does all the lying that is done around here,”
added Capt. Trustleton. “I want to hear what Brooks has to say about
it.”
“I didn’t push him overboard, or touch him,” replied the persecuted boy.
“Well, he tipped the boat so as to throw me out,” added Swikes.
“Mr. Swikes tried to make me give him the dollar you let me have; and,
when I told him I wouldn’t give it up, he said he’d shake it out of me.
I told him to shake away, and he tried to grab me. I ran aft, and got
out of his way; and when the boat canted a little it tipped him over.”
“Served him right,” said the captain. “Don’t you give him the dollar.
The money was for you, and not for him.”
“You take that boy’s part against me, Capt. Trustleton, and ’tain’t
right to do so.”
“Yes, it is right, when you treat him worse than a pig. I wonder now
that he didn’t keep your money when he got it into his fist. He could
have run the boat ashore as soon as he got the wallet, and taken the
next train for New York. It is very strange to me that he didn’t do it,
if you use him in this way.”
Certainly the captain was plain-spoken, and Obed Swikes did not like
his speech; but he was too wet and cold to argue the question, and he
walked towards the station. Wade soon found himself alone in the boat.
He had a dollar in his pocket, which was more money than he had ever
possessed before: it seemed like a vast sum to him. But he was very
hungry, and he soon followed the party to the village. It was but a
small place, consisting of not more than a dozen houses. He found that
there was no tavern, store, or eating-house, in the place: all these
were at the village two miles distant.
“Isn’t there any place where I can get something to eat?” asked Wade of
the woman who had given him the information.
“None nearer than the West Village,” she replied.
“I have had nothing but a few crusts to eat since yesterday; and I have
to sail a boat up to Midhampton, and I can’t do it without something to
eat,” added Wade, in a mournful tone.
“I will give you something to eat,” said the woman kindly. “I am
willing to feed the hungry, but I am afraid of tramps.”
“I’m not a tramp yet, marm: I don’t know what I may be. I am willing to
pay for what I eat, for I have some money.”
The woman took no notice of this remark, but led the way into the
kitchen of her house, which was as neat as wax, and very different in
this respect from that of Mrs. Swikes. She put a great slice of ham
into a pan, and put it on the fire; and in a moment it was hissing and
sizzling, and sending forth a savory odor which tickled the senses of
the hungry boy. When it was nearly done she put some cold potatoes into
the pan, and fried them with the ham. She had already set the table;
and, when the ham was cooked, she asked him to take his seat. She had
coffee, and bread and butter, besides the other viands; and Wade could
not remember when he had had such a nice breakfast. He astonished the
lady by the magnitude of his appetite. He praised the food without
stint; and the hostess was complimented by the quantity he ate.
When the meal was finished, the good lady would not take a cent of his
dollar; and he thanked her with all his might.