The young master of Hyson Hall

When Mr. Welford heard Phil’s story the next morning he looked very grave. He was not altogether surprised at the news, because he had known there was a mortgage upon the property, and, as he remarked to Phil,—

“If a man disappears suddenly and leaves affairs of that kind behind him, he may expect trouble. I am not a lawyer, nor have I full knowledge of your uncle’s business, but I know that for some time he has been making arrangements to satisfy all claims against him, and, among other things, to relieve his property of this mortgage, which was intended to be a temporary thing, and was given to satisfy old Touron, who insisted, as soon as your grandfather died, upon having his claim against your uncle secured in this way. I would have expected Touron to foreclose the mortgage if he had a legal chance, which I suppose he has.”

“But why should he do it just at this time?” asked poor Phil.

“That shows his talent for business,” said Mr. Welford. “What he wants is not his money, but Hyson Hall. And, having heard that your uncle is away, he sends his son here to see if his absence is likely to continue for any considerable time. Such a condition of affairs would be of great advantage to him. If your uncle were here, he might pay whatever interest or part of the principal was due, and so stop proceedings.”

“How could Mr. Touron have heard that my uncle had gone away?”

“He lives in New York, and such news could readily travel that far. Old Touron keeps a sharp lookout on his debtors. I never met his son, but I know he has spent most of his life in France, where, of late, he has been acting as his father’s business agent. I’ve no doubt he is a sharp fellow.”

“I know he is,” said Philip. “He is in town now. He left us yesterday.”

“Then I believe I saw him,” said Mr. Welford. “Has he dark hair and eyes, and a very small moustache? And is he rather taller than you?”

“That’s like him,” said Phil.

“Then I saw him in Mr. Markle’s office, where I stopped for a moment this morning. He is probably engaging Markle to attend to the matter.”

“That looks very badly, does it not, sir?” said Phil, with a little huskiness in his voice.

Mr. Welford had much more sympathy for his visitor than when he came to him in regard to the trouble with Susan. This was something of an entirely different nature.

“It does look badly, my boy,” he said, “but you must not despair. I have no authority to attend to this affair; but your uncle is my friend, and I’ll take it upon myself to see a lawyer, and have the property protected, if possible. One thing you must remember. If you can in any way find out where your uncle is, you must do it, and let him know how things are going on. His presence here is more important than anything else.”

“I do wish that I had the slightest idea where he is!” exclaimed Phil. “All that I can find out is that he walked away with a knapsack on his back.”

“In that way he has travelled long distances,” said Mr. Welford. “But he may be crossing the Atlantic now for all we know. Of one thing we may be certain, your uncle has not run away from his debts. He is an honorable man.”

“I know that,” said Phil, warmly.

“Yes,” continued Mr. Welford. “He is undoubtedly careless, and his mind is occupied with too many things; but he is not dishonorable. And now, my boy, go home, and make yourself as easy as you can. I’ll find out how things are going on, and let you know. By the way, how did you manage that affair with the housekeeper? Have you discharged her?”

“Oh, no, sir!” said Phil. “That’s all right. We’re good friends again.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Mr. Welford. “That looks as if you were getting into the right way.”

And he laid his hand on Phil’s shoulder, which was a good deal for Mr. Welford to do for any boy.

When Phil left the banker’s office he made up his mind that his great duty was to find his uncle. This was the only thing that he could even try to do now; but how to set about it he did not know.

As he rode away, he saw a crowd of people running down towards the river-front of the town. He stopped a boy, and asked him what was the matter.

“The Thomas Wistar’s afire!” said the boy, as he scampered off.

Phil knew the Thomas Wistar very well. She was a large steamboat, which had run upon the river for many years. She was once a passenger-boat, but lately had been used to carry freight. At any other time he would have hurried down to the river with the crowd; but just now he felt that this was not the time for him to be going to fires. He must hasten home. Perhaps his uncle might be there.

He had not gone half a mile before he saw two men in a wagon driving rapidly towards him. Just as he reached them they turned into a crossroad which led down to the river. One of them called back to him,—

“There’s a boat on fire, floating down the river!”

Phil looked over the fields and could see the heavy black smoke in the direction of the river. Still he did not follow the men, but pushed on towards home faster than before.

“If she’s floating down the river,” he thought, “I can see her from our house.”

The road from Boontown to Hyson Hall was half a mile back from the river, and on his way Phil could get no view of the conflagration, but, as he looked back, he sometimes saw the smoke, which never seemed to be far behind him.

“She’s coming down pretty fast,” he thought.

“The Thomas Wistar is afire!” he said to Joel, when he dismounted at the barn.

“There’s none of my property on board,” remarked Joel, as he took Jouncer’s bridle and led him to the stable.

Hurrying to the house, Phil met Jenny, who told him that Chap Webster and Phœnix Poole had been there, and had gone down to the river.

Phil ran round the house and over the fields to the water. He found Chap and Phœnix in the scow, which they had poled to some distance from the shore, and had anchored over the place where Phœnix had found the side of a ship.

Apparently, they had not been diving, and were now standing in the scow looking at the burning steamer, not half a mile away.

“What boat is it?” shouted Chap, as Phil appeared on the shore. “We can’t make her out.”

“The Thomas Wistar,” cried Phil. “Come ashore for me!”

There was a small row-boat fastened to the scow, and into this Phœnix jumped and ferried Phil over to the scow.

“I brought our little boat down,” said Chap, “because I didn’t know but the scow might be aground, and I want to see what I can find out about this thing before the war opens. I hope nobody is aboard the Wistar. She looks as if she was bound to burn up.”

The burning steamboat, which was coming down the river with the wind and the tide, presented a grand spectacle. Great clouds of black smoke arose from her, which, every now and then, were lighted up by flashes of flame.

The wind was a little behind her, on her port side, and as she floated down, turned partly sideways to the current, it blew the heavy clouds of smoke in front of her, sometimes almost concealing her bow and paddle-wheels from view.

The fire, which broke out as she lay at her wharf that morning, had got beyond control, and she had been cut loose and set adrift for fear that, on account of the high wind, the fire might spread to other vessels, and to the buildings on the river-front.

“I don’t believe anybody is aboard of her,” said Phil. “There must have been time for all hands to get off. If any people were on her there’d be boats coming down to take them off.”

“There isn’t any steamboat in town, except the old tub of a ferry-boat,” said Chap, “and they’d be afraid to bring her anywhere near, for fear she’d take fire herself.”

“I wonder how far she’ll float down the river,” said Phœnix, “before she burns to the water’s edge and sinks?”

“Give it up,” said Chap. “But I tell you what it is, boys, this would have been a gorgeous show at night. We could have seen the blaze better then, and the sky and the water would have been lighted up for miles. It would have gone ahead of any fireworks we ever saw.”

“If they had only known you wanted a show,” said Phœnix, “they might have smothered the fire and put off the display till night.”

“Phœnix,” said Chap, “don’t get in the way of making fun of people. It’s sometimes worse than thrashing ’em. But she does look grand, doesn’t she, boys?”

The Thomas Wistar was now approaching quite near, and although she was well out in the river, the boys fancied they could feel the heat from her, for the wind was blowing somewhat in their direction.

When she was nearly opposite to them, they could see her stern, which before had been obscured by the clouds of smoke which rolled in front of her, and it was evident that so far the fire had not extended to that portion of the vessel. The strong wind blew sparks, smoke, and flame all forward.

“Boys,” cried Phil, “let’s row up to her! There may be somebody on board of her!”

“There isn’t anybody on her,” said Chap, “or they’d be on deck.”

“We can go up close and shout,” said Phil. “There might be somebody below. There isn’t any danger if we keep behind the fire. Come along!”

And he jumped into the row-boat.

Without another word the two boys tumbled in after him, and, untying the rope which held them to the scow, Chap seized the oars and rowed out to the burning steamboat.