The young master of Hyson Hall

Chap’s bosom was now filled with a tremendous secret. Phil and the other fellows might laugh as much as they pleased when he talked about the treasure on the sunken vessel.

Now, he knew something about it, and could afford to let them sneer. The man with the black straw hat would probably depart from Boontown as soon as possible, and then he, Chap, would be the only person in that part of the country who had any positive knowledge on the subject of the wreck.

He would have been glad to tell Phil all that he had heard, but his promise to the man—which, perhaps, he had made without proper consideration—prevented this.

He found Phil asleep when he went into the house, and, as his friend asked him no questions in regard to his walk, Chap did not consider it necessary to say anything about it; and Phil went to bed without knowing that the man with the black straw hat had been there at all.

Chap lay awake for some time, thinking about his exciting interview and trying to make up his mind as to the extent and meaning of his promise to the man; and he finally concluded that, while he could not tell Philip, nor any one else, about the three brothers and the Berkeley claim to the sunken treasure, he had promised nothing that would prevent his going to work as soon as possible to look for the submerged gold.

This was the thing he had intended to do all along, before he knew that there existed a man with a black straw hat. Of course, the recovered property could not be divided, and things could not be definitely settled before Mr. Berkeley came back; but there was nothing to prevent Phil and himself from making a beginning in the good work.

If they could only get out a few boxes of silver coin, that would help wonderfully in carrying out the rest of the enterprise. He went to sleep, so to speak, with his mind full of exploding cartridges and flying mud.

The next day Phil rode into town to see Mr. Welford again. He did not know what means Chap was going to take in order to bring Susan to terms, but he had no faith whatever in his friend’s success, and determined that he must make arrangements to pay the housekeeper her wages and discharge her, in case she continued to rebel against his authority.

He had looked over his uncle’s books, and had found that two years’ wages were really due to Susan. She had probably wished Mr. Berkeley to act as her banker, and keep her money for her.

Phil rode to town on Jouncer, Joel making no objection this time, for the horse had been brought back in excellent condition from the trip to Trumbull’s.

But, although the day was a pleasant one, and the horse went well, Phil did not enjoy his ride. He did not at all fancy the idea of his uncle’s coming home and finding his old servant discharged.

On the other hand, the teachings of Godfrey Berkeley had made Phil feel that his uncle would think very ill of him if he allowed himself to be set at defiance and treated with contempt by a servant who owed him obedience and respect. The thing had to be done, but Phil hated to do it.

Mr. Welford was surprised and angry when he heard Phil’s errand.

“Three hundred dollars!” he exclaimed. “Certainly there is not that much owing to the housekeeper! And discharge her! Why, you must be crazy! How can you think of doing such things in your uncle’s absence?”

Phil then explained, at full, his provocations. Mr. Welford listened sternly.

“I don’t know what you have been doing,” he said, “to make her act in that way. I have always heard of her as a very faithful servant, not only to your uncle, but to your grandfather.”

A thought passed through Mr. Welford’s mind, but as he looked at Phil’s clear eye and honest countenance he refrained from expressing it. Three hundred dollars to pay a servant seemed an absurdity, but what else could the boy want with the money?

“There is no use talking any more about it,” said Mr. Welford. “I can furnish you with no such sum as that. I have now in my hands very little money belonging to your uncle. By his directions, I paid, a few days ago, a large sum on his account, and I certainly expected to have seen him before this time in regard to that and other matters. As it is, I not only have not three hundred dollars belonging to him, but his balance here is very small, scarcely enough, I imagine, to keep you and Hyson Hall going for a couple of weeks longer. I have no doubt, however, that your uncle will be back before that time expires. I advise you now to go home, and get along with the housekeeper as well as you can. If you are pleasant to her, perhaps she will be pleasant to you. And don’t try to do any great deeds in your uncle’s absence. I see you are not afraid to bring your horse round to the front this time,” he said, with a grim smile, as Phil opened the door.

If Mr. Welford had been a boy, there would have been a fight, then and there; but he was an elderly, respectable gentleman, and Phil answered him not a word. He merely bowed, mounted his horse and rode away, the most rueful boy in all that county.

The next day was Sunday, and Phil and Chap walked over to the Webster farm, and went to church with the family. The boys returned there to dinner, but Phil insisted that Chap should go home with him in the afternoon and continue his visit, for he declared that Hyson Hall was too doleful a place for him to live in alone.

Helen, Chap’s sister, somewhat younger, and a great deal better looking than he, privately told her brother that she thought that Phil must find the management of affairs at Hyson Hall a dreadful worry, for she never saw him look so blue and moping.

“You’re right, my girl,” said Chap. “The domestic horizon over there is pretty cloudy, and there’s what the papers would call a crisis impending; but I’m Phil’s prime minister, and it’s my opinion that the government party will be found firmly established when the crisis is over.”

“Now, Chap,” said Helen, taking her brother by the hand, “don’t you go and lead Phil into any wild tantrums.”

“Tantrums!” exclaimed Chap, impatiently. “I’d like to know why people always think about tantrums and such things when they talk to me. I’ve got nothing to do with tantrums. Why, Helen, I’m helping Phil to carry out one of the most important pieces of work that anybody ever undertook in this part of the country.”

“But, Chap,” said Helen, “that is just the kind of thing I am afraid of.”

“Now, Helen,” said Chap, “if I could tell you all about these affairs—which I can’t do, of course, without Phil’s permission—you’d see that I know what I’m about, and that I’m trying to do at least two most excellent things. You mustn’t talk, my dear sister, about matters you don’t understand.”

Then Chap kissed his sister, and hurried on to join Phil, who had started for home.

The previous day, while Phil was away, Chap had been down to the river, and had made as careful an examination as was possible, under the circumstances, of the position of the portion of the wreck which he could see,—which, at that time, happened to be very little,—and from this he endeavored to get an idea of the probable position of that part of the vessel which he couldn’t see at all.

He had pretty well satisfied himself in regard to the matter; and, on Monday morning, as he sat with Phil on the porch, after breakfast, he laid before his friend a plan he had mentally worked out for the recovery of the treasure.

“You see, Phil,” he said, “there’s no use fooling any more. The gold is there, and we ought to get it. From what you told me Mr. Welford said, I should think a little cash would be a pretty handy thing just now; though, of course, the great bulk of it should be kept in the bank vaults until your uncle comes back.”

Phil listened with a dull sort of interest. He had been wondering if Chap had entirely given up the endeavor to bring Susan to terms. The time he had allowed him had elapsed; but his lively friend was so engrossed with the wrecking business that he appeared to have forgotten all about his proposed domestic diplomacy.

Phil was sorry to see this, and intended to say something on the subject, for he felt, with a good deal of wounded pride, that it was now impossible for him to carry out his declared determination to discharge Susan.

He was about to change the subject from wrecks to housekeepers, when a carriage came slowly driving up the shaded road towards the house.

The boys immediately recognized the vehicle as one of the old rattle-trap concerns belonging to the livery-stable in the town.