CHAPTER XII.

HOTEL DE POISSON.

If Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier had been a prudent colored man, he would have avoided the meeting which Captain Dock Vincent contrived to bring about, by dodging around the rocks, and again appearing in the principal path. But he was not a prudent colored man; and when he saw the dangerous individual before him, though he might easily have turned aside so as to avoid him, he did not do so.

The steward was a very peaceable and well-disposed person on board the yacht, and elsewhere, but under certain circumstances he was a belligerent colored man. He had a very reasonable and decided objection to being called a "nigger." He claimed that he was a gentleman, and while he behaved like a gentleman, he declined to be insulted with impunity. Mr. Ebénier saw the person who had applied this obnoxious epithet to him during the examination. It is possible that his heart beat a little quicker when he discovered the blackguard, as he regarded him; but it is certain that he did not turn to the right or the left, but proceeded on his way as though Dock had been a pygmy, instead of the heavy, stout man he was.

"See here, you nigger," Dock began, when the steward was within hailing distance.

"What do you want of me, you state-prison bird?" replied the colored man.

"What's that you say?" demanded Dock, angrily.

"I asked you what you wanted of me, you state-prison bird," repeated the steward.

"We'll settle that here," said Dock, rolling up his sleeves. "I don't allow any man, white or black, to insult me."

"That's just my position exactly," added Mr. Ebénier, throwing off his coat. "I don't allow any man, big or little, black or white, to insult me."

The unexpected readiness of the steward to settle the question on the spot rather startled and perplexed Dock, and he did not appear to be quite so ready to "pitch in" as he supposed he was. It is sometimes true of individuals, as it is of nations, that a readiness to fight is the surest guarantee of peace.

"What do you mean by calling me a state-prison bird?" demanded Dock, in less confident tones.

"What do you mean by calling me a nigger?" retorted the steward.

"Well, you are one—aren't you?"

"Well, you are a state-prison bird—aren't you?"

"Don't say that again!" said Dock, shaking his head.

"I'll say it twenty-five times more, if you call me a nigger as many times as that."

"Aren't you a black man?"

"I am; but my heart isn't half so black as yours. I'm not a nigger," protested the colored man, stoutly; and it was evident in this instance that the negro would fight, which was just the thing Dock didn't wish him to do.

"Whatever you are, I won't dirty my hands licking a nigger," added the bully.

"But I'll dirty mine by licking a state-prison bird, and you shall have the satisfaction of being licked by a black man," said the steward, stepping up towards his burly antagonist.

"Cool off, cuffee; I was only joking with you," continued Dock, with a mighty effort to laugh.

"Don't call me cuffee. My name is C. Augustus Ebénier, and I am ready to teach you good manners, without fee or reward."

"Never mind, Mr. What's-your-name."

"If you wish to apologize, do so, or I'll soil my boot by kicking you."

"Apologize to a nigger!" exclaimed Dock.

The steward kicked him. This was more than Dock could stand, and he levelled a blow at the spunky assailant, which was parried. Dock was heavy, but he was clumsy, and before he could repeat the stroke, the hard fist of the colored man had settled under one of his eyes, leaving its mark there—a black eye. The bully retreated under the stunning force of the blow, and picked up a stone, which he hurled at his opponent, but fortunately without hitting him. Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier appeared to be satisfied with what he had done, and he did not follow up his advantage, but picked up a stone, to intimate that two could play at that game as well as one.

"We'll settle this another time," said Dock, wiping his black eye.

"You wanted to settle it now, and you have," replied the steward. "If I can do anything more for you, all you have to do is to call me a nigger, and I'll put your other eye into mourning."

"I'll see you again," said Dock, in threatening tones, as he turned and walked away towards his house.

The steward put on his coat, and moved towards the landing-place, beyond the chasm. Since the examination, he had been promenading the town to see the place, or, what is quite as likely, to permit the inhabitants to see him; for Mr. Ebénier was human, and his weak point was a large estimate of his own consequence. He was on his way to the Point to hail the yacht for a boat.

He followed the path better satisfied with himself than we are with him, for it is not the part of a gentleman to fight unless attacked, or to return epithet for epithet. But he had hardly taken half a dozen steps, before a stone, as big as a man's fist, struck him on the back of the head, and he dropped senseless upon the rocks, not killed, or even badly hurt, but effectually stunned. This was Dock Vincent's mode of warfare—to hit a man behind his back.

"Now you'll keep a civil tongue in your head for a while," said the ruffian to himself, as he hastened towards his house.

The steward lay still upon his bed of rocks. The sun had gone down, and the darkness gathered over him; but no one appeared to render him any assistance. The blow had been a heavy one, and the blood ran down the back of his head from the flesh wound it had produced.

When it was quite dark, Augustus, as he was called on board the yacht, began to move and exhibit some signs of life; but a few minutes elapsed before he had sufficiently recovered to rise. He got up, rubbed his head, looked around him, and collected his ideas enough to know where he was. He felt the blood on his head, but he was a strong-minded man, and did not believe he was killed. He walked down to the landing-place, and hailed the yacht without obtaining any response. He repeated the call a dozen times with no better success. Either the crew were not on board, or they had turned in for the night.

Augustus was a man of the world, and his philosophy was equal to almost any occasion. He could not get on board, and therefore he decided to remain on shore, which exhibited a nicety of judgment worthy of commendation and imitation. Removing his collar, he bathed his head and neck in cold salt water, and was satisfied that his wound was not a dangerous one. He congratulated himself that the stone had not hit him in the face, and thus marred his personal beauty; for, being an exquisite in his own way, this would have been the most fearful calamity that could possibly have happened to him.

After making himself presentable, so far as he could in the darkness, and in the absence of a mirror, his first impulse was to find his treacherous enemy, and punish him for his dastardly attack; for Mr. Ebénier did not purpose to trouble Squire Saunders or the courts with his affair. But he did not know where to find Dock, and was not aware that he lived in the house nearest to the landing-place. He did not exactly like the idea of passing the night in the open air, and it would not be etiquette for him to apply to Mr. Watson or the captain for a lodging.

The steward was not only a philosopher, but a man of expedients. On his way up to the town in the morning he had noticed a dilapidated fish-house, at the head of a little inlet. This building would afford him a shelter, if nothing more, for the night, and he repaired to its friendly but inhospitable roof. Entering the fish-house, he groped about for a suitable place to lie down, and blundered against a rickety flight of stairs in one corner. Hoping to find better sleeping accommodation in the loft than on the ground floor,—as literally it was, being composed of earth and rocks,—he ascended the steps. The stairs creaked and groaned, and it required some nerve to go up in the dark; but the steward's courage was equal to the emergency.

He found that it was not safe to walk about on the floor of the loft in the dark, for the timbers groaned under his weight, and the boards were full of holes and traps; but near the head of the stairs was an old sail, which seemed to have been placed there for his especial accommodation. Lying down on this, he wooed the slumber which his head, still dizzy from the effects of the blow, required.

"I'm all right now," said he to himself. "It smells fishy; I will call it Hotel de Poisson, and go to sleep."

While the steward was seeking a resting-place for his weary head, Dock Vincent walked down to the Point to ascertain whether or not he had killed his victim. He was gone, and the ruffian went home again.

Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier could not go to sleep in his hotel as readily as he desired; but, just as he was dropping off, he was startled by the sound of voices, in low, suppressed tones, hardly above a whisper. He heard footsteps, and then the dim light of a lantern shed its rays up through the holes and cracks in the floor. In vain he tried to identify the voices; the whispers did not enable him to do so. He dared not move lest the creaking of the timbers should alarm the nocturnal visitors.

He was satisfied that the persons below were engaged in some kind of mischief, and it was his business to know what it was, and who the men were. Near the centre of the loft there was a large hole in the floor, and he commenced working himself by hundredth parts of an inch towards it; but every time he moved, however slightly, the creaking joist threatened to betray his presence, and he decided to satisfy himself at once. One glance might inform him who the men were, and perhaps the mystery of the stolen gold would be solved.

The steward made a spring towards the aperture, throwing himself forward upon his hands, so as to look down through the hole. He had forgotten the ruinous condition of the Hotel de Poisson. His weight and the force of his movement were too much for the strength of the rotten wood; a timber gave way, and Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was precipitated, head first, through the hole he had made, and struck between the two men, who sat each on a rock facing the other, with the light on the ground between them. The lantern was smashed, and the two men uttered a howl of terror.

If the steward's head had struck one of the rocks it must have split it open—the head, not the rock! He hit the ground, and, as it was, he was again stunned, the men making a hasty escape without recognition.

CHAPTER XIII.

"OFT FROM APPARENT ILLS."

Doubtless a person with Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier's pretensions to gentility should have sent down his card to the individuals engaged in conference below before he went down himself; but the circumstances did not permit the exercise of this degree of courtesy. In fact the steward had no intention forcibly to intrude himself upon the persons below; only to obtain a glance at them. He was a man of intelligence, and the arrest of his captain, in whose character he had a becoming interest, was enough to assure him that something was wrong. He had listened patiently to the details of the examination, and while he was willing to admit that the old man had been robbed of his gold, it never entered his head that Levi was guilty of the crime.

The muffled speech of the two men in the Hotel de Poisson, and the unseemly hour they had chosen for their conference, suggested to the steward that they had something to do with this robbery. He had vainly endeavored to identify their voices, and as a last resort, failing to obtain any information by other means, he decided to obtain one glance at them at all hazards. Perhaps it was well for him that the timbers broke beneath his weight, for the men, not relishing the intrusion, might have subjected him to much bodily harm.

As it was, they bolted as though an evil spirit had suddenly dropped down between them from the upper regions. They were terribly frightened, as indicated by their rapid flight. The steward had not even obtained his coveted view of their faces and forms, and was no wiser in the end than he was in the beginning. The treacherous timbers had defeated his purpose, while, perhaps, they had saved him from a greater calamity than his fall.

For the second time that day, the steward lay senseless on the ground. Though Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was not wanting in intelligence, his skull seemed to have a capability for enduring hard knocks which was really surprising. Doubtless his head was his strong place; if it had not been, his brains must have been dashed out. According to the tradition, it was safer for him to strike on his head than on his shins. Certainly he was not badly injured, and if reduced to extremity he might have let out his head for use as a blacksmith's anvil.

Before the two men who had been conferring together in the Hotel de Poisson could muster courage to return, the steward had in a great measure recovered from the effects of the fall. Perhaps the superabundance of stars which dawned upon his vision had not all ceased to shine; and perhaps his ideas, which had all been thrown into a confused mass, were not altogether detached and restored to their original channels; but Augustus was practically himself again. His first thought was one of regret that he had failed to obtain a sight of the two men; that he had not even learned whether they were black or white, old or young, seamen or landsmen.

He rubbed his head to relieve the pressure on his brain, and to vivify his ideas. The incident which had occurred seemed to render the Hotel de Poisson an unfit place for him to remain during the balance of the night; but he was not willing to leave till he had examined the locality, and obtained whatever evidence it might afford him in regard to the mysterious couple who had met there. Kicking about the ground, he disturbed the fractured glass of the lantern. The globe had been broken, but the lamp was still whole.

Though Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier had a great many bright parts, he was inclined to be a "swell." He smoked a pipe on the forecastle of the yacht, but when he walked through the principal streets of Rockport, in his plaid pants and bobtail sack, he smoked an Havana cigar, with a meerschaum mouthpiece, in deference to his huge mustache—it was more genteel to smoke a cigar than a pipe. The steward carried a cigar case, which always contained two or three of the choicest brand, and he claimed to have brought them from Havana himself. In this case he also carried matches, which now promised to serve him a better turn than for the lighting of his cigar.

In a moment he had the lamp from the lantern burning, and was looking curiously and eagerly about the premises. The steward had an idea; perhaps not a very brilliant one, but as brilliant as could be expected of a man whose intellect had been so rudely jarred twice within a brief period. The conduct of the two transient guests at the Hotel de Poisson had been suspicious, to say the least. That afternoon the robbery had been fully discussed, and he was confident that the visitors were in some manner connected with that affair. His idea was, that the fish-house had been used as a place of concealment for the plunder. He made a hasty examination of the ground and the rocks which formed the first floor of the Hotel de Poisson, but discovered nothing to confirm his impression.

The steward crossed the place to examine under the rickety stairs. On his way he hit his head against a splintered board, which was hanging from the floor above, partly detached by his movement through the structure. It scratched the top of his head, already tender from rough usage, and thereby vexed and angered him, as slight accidents often ruffle even great minds. With a gesture of impatience, and a petulant word not in good taste for a drawing-room, he seized the projecting board, and gave it a savage wrench.

Mr. Ebénier was not a poet himself, but he was fond of the poets, and had perused Milton, Shakspeare, Beattie, Cowper, and Keats with real pleasure, to say nothing of having read Corneille and Racine in the original. The steward, therefore, was prepared to appreciate the poet's sentiment, "Oft from apparent ills our blessings rise." His impatient gesture and his petulant exclamation when the board scratched his head, indicated that he regarded the accident as "an apparent ill;" but, as he wrenched the board, a shot-bag, plethoric with gold coin, tumbled, with a clinking clang, upon the ground at his feet, narrowly avoiding his head, and thus saying him from being knocked senseless a third time.

The steward opened his eyes, and regarded the bag as the blessing. He shook the board again, and another bag came this time. Then he pulled it away, and the sail which had formed his bed in the loft rolled down. Overhauling this, he found a third bag; and this was the last he could find. Picking up the lamp till it blazed like a torch, he renewed the search; but no more of these heavy blessings were available.

Mr. Ebénier was satisfied, and he set his lamp down on the ground, intending to open one of the bags, and ascertain the nature of its contents. Under ordinary circumstances the steward would have been too careful to set his lamp down so near a pile of dry seaweed as he did on the present occasion. But his mind was, probably, so confused by the hard knocks his head had received, and by the excitement of finding the gold, that he took little note of his surroundings. His thought was concentrated upon the bags of gold. He did not even think of the two men whose conference he had disturbed, and did not seem to fear that they would return and deprive him of his booty.

He was about to untie the string of one of the heavy bags, when a bright glare overspread the space before him. The pile of dry seaweed, which had been used to cover a sail-boat in the winter, was all in a light blaze. The steward tried to quench the flames with his feet, but his efforts were unavailing. The dry stuff burned like shavings, and the more he kicked, the more the fire leaped up and spit at him. He fought the flames as long as his courage held out, and then he "allowed" that the Hotel de Poisson was a doomed structure.

Taking the money-bags, he retreated down the peninsula towards the landing-place at the Point, lighted on his way by the burning building. Crossing the plank, he reached the shore. There was a dory there, and putting the three bags into it, the steward launched it, and pulled off to the yacht. The treasure was conveyed to the cabin, and deposited temporarily in a locker under a berth. The dory was towed back to the shore, and placed where the steward had found it, that no early fisherman might be deprived of his morning trip. Augustus was in a flurry of excitement all this time, and had not even considered what he should do with the bags. His present object was to secure the plunder so that it could not be recovered by the robbers; and, having done this, he was entirely satisfied with himself, and everybody else, except Dock Vincent, to whom he owed a balance on account, for that night's business.

There was an alarm of fire on shore. The bright glare of the flames from the Hotel de Poisson penetrated the windows of a house near Dock Vincent's, and lighted up the bed-chamber of a sleeping stone-cutter. He gave the alarm; the bells rang, the engines rattled, and the whole town was aroused from its peaceful slumbers. Hundreds of men, who had worked hard all day, lost two hours of sleep for an old shanty which was not worth five dollars.

The Hotel de Poisson was burned to the ground before many people had gathered. Some good men thanked God that it had not been a poor man's house; young men enjoyed the excitement of "running with the machine," and those with an eye for the picturesque were thankful that the unsightly shanty had been removed from a place where it disfigured the landscape. No one appeared to be sorry; but every one wondered how the fire had caught. Various conjectures were suggested; but, after all, no one knew anything about it. Some thought a straggler had used it as a lodging, and set it on fire in lighting his pipe. Others thought some bad boys had set the fire for fun.

If the two men who had met there to confer about their ill-gotten gold were in the crowd, doubtless they were sadder and wiser men. Probably they thought that the breaking of the lantern had communicated the flame to the shanty. The people present knew nothing of the event in the Hotel de Poisson wherein Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier had been the principal actor. The finding of the half-melted remains of a lantern had no significance or suggestiveness to them. The building burned up clean, and there was nothing left of it but a few smoking timbers, and a thin sprinkling of ashes on the ground and the rocks.

If the robbers, whoever they were, went to the fire, it is more than likely that they searched eagerly among the ruins for the gold. If they did, they saw nothing which looked like the fused coins of the treasure. The old sail, in which the gold appeared to have been concealed, or which had been thrown over its place of concealment, was burned to tinder, and there was not a vestige of the bags or the money.

CHAPTER XIV.

"LOSE HIS OWN SOUL!"

The steward of The Starry Flag, after he had returned the dory to the rocks, and secured the jolly-boat of the yacht, had an opportunity to rest his fevered, mixed-up brain, and to consider his next step. The four seamen of the schooner slept on shore, at their own homes, and there was no one on board but the cook, who slumbered heavily in the forecastle, and did not hear Augustus when he conveyed the bags to the cabin.

Mr. Ebénier lighted a lamp, closed the cabin doors, and drew the silken curtains over the ports in the upper part of the trunk, so that no one could see what he was doing. Though it was not lawful for the steward to use the wash-bowl in Mr. Watson's stateroom, he considered that the present emergency would justify him in doing so. He performed his ablutions with the utmost care, paying particular attention to his wounded head. He then changed his clothing throughout, and devoted half an hour to cleansing his plaid pants, which had been somewhat soiled by contact with the burning seaweed. He even polished his boots before he put them away.

So far as cleanliness was concerned, the steward was a gentleman, which no unclean person can be. Having completed his toilet, and removed all signs of the operation from the state-room, he sat down on a locker in the cabin. He was thinking of the extraordinary incidents of the night. He was fully satisfied that he had found Mr. Fairfield's treasure, and that the opportunity entirely to free his young captain from suspicion was within his grasp. It was a pleasant thought; but, after all, who was Captain Fairfield? Only a young fellow behind whose chair at dinner he was privileged to stand. He had seen him for the first time but a few days before, and he did not feel under any peculiar obligations to him.

Mr. Ebénier took the three bags of gold from the locker, and laid them on the cabin table. It was midnight by the clock which hung in the cabin—the dead hour of night, when all were sleeping. The fire on shore had burned out, and all was still save the rolling sea. The steward went to the door, opened it, passed up to the deck; there was no one in sight, and hardly a light to be seen on the land. Returning to the cabin, he poured out the contents of one of the bags on the table, and proceeded to count the gold. It was a long job, and there was more money than the steward had ever before seen together. On a piece of paper he noted each hundred dollars with a tally-mark. His last pile contained but fifty dollars. Counting up his marks, he made thirty-eight of them; and the whole sum, according to his reckoning, was thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars.

The old man had lost four thousand dollars, and the steward, concluding he had made a mistake, performed the agreeable task of counting the gold a second time, but with the same result as before. After making the allowance for the fifty dollars found in the captain's state-room, the amount was one hundred dollars short. Mr. Ebénier had the impudence to ask himself if this could be the miser's money, since it did not hold out in the sum he had lost. But the bags were plainly marked, as the fourth had been, "N. Fairfield," in the cramped handwriting of the miser. Of course there could be no doubt in regard to the ownership of the treasure, and Mr. Ebénier could not but wonder at the stupidity of the thieves in hiding it in or under the old sail in the Hotel de Poisson. But he did them the justice to conclude that it had only been placed there for a short time, perhaps for but a few hours; at any rate, their presence in the shanty indicated that it was to have been removed during the night.

It had been removed during the night! The steward chuckled when he thought of it, but his capacious intellect was agitated by a great moral question. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars was an immense sum to a person in his station, who had never had even a hundred dollars in his possession at one time. Honesty was a precious jewel, but it was not possible for him to make thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars, at one stupendous haul, by being honest. He did not steal the money. He did not rob the old man. If the steward had not suffered the perils and discomforts of two broken heads, or rather one head broken twice, the robbers, whoever they were, would doubtless have divided the money between them, and the old man would never know what had become of his cherished gold.

Mr. Ebénier asked himself if this was not a freak of fortune in his favor; if the money was not a providential compensation for his twice-broken head. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would be a very handsome atonement for two such raps as he had received, and he was Mammon-worshipper enough to feel willing that his head should be pounded to a jelly at this rate, so long as the germ of his mighty intellect was not extinguished.

The steward was a man of exquisite tastes, and was ambitious for social recognition and distinction. In Paris a colored man was just as good as, if not a little better than, a white man. His former master, in Louisiana, had believed in Paris, and seeing with his eyes, he had been fully converted to his master's faith. Mr. Ebénier wanted to go to Paris, wanted to live there, even as a waiter in a café, if no better situation presented itself. With the money before him, he could realize his dream of luxury and splendor. He could convert these half eagles into napoleons, and revel like a prince in the gay metropolis of France. He would wear the finest of broadcloth, eat the most sumptuous of dinners, and saunter up and down the Champs Elysées like a gentleman. In short, thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars, or nearly twenty thousand francs in the currency of France, would make a gentleman of him.

Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was sorely tempted. It might be only once in his lifetime that such a chance to be a gentleman would be presented to him. He could put the gold into his carpet-bag, walk over to Gloucester, and take the first train for Boston. No one would know what had become of him; or, if they did, he would not be suspected of having the gold. But he would be missed, and his absence might cause a commotion. It would be better not to leave at present. The money could be concealed on board of the yacht, and when he was disposed to abandon the vessel it would be within his reach.

After more reflection on this important matter, the steward became convinced that it would be safer and better to hide the gold on board. At the stern of the vessel, under the standing-room, there was a space not available for cabin use, which formed a kind of store-room for extra supplies. It was reached by removing the cabin steps. The tempted man entered this contracted and low apartment with the lamp in his hand. He found a narrow aperture, which led to the space under the cabin floor, where the ballast was deposited, and over which a board had been nailed to prevent the odor of bilge water from penetrating the apartment of the passengers. He removed this board, and reaching down into the hold, placed the bags in a position where they were not likely to be discovered, even by a person searching for them. Nailing on the board again, he covered it with various articles, and returned to the cabin.

On the table lay a Bible, which the steward occasionally read. Though it was now two o'clock in the morning, he was not sleepy; he was too much excited to think of slumber. He opened the good book mechanically, turned its leaves, and read a verse here and there; but he was thinking all the time of the luxurious gayety of the French capital, and the pleasures which thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would purchase.

"For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"

This was the last verse he read, and he closed the book, as though this appeal of Holy Writ grated harshly on his feelings.

"Lose his own soul," repeated he, almost in spite of himself.

He tried to think of the Boulevards and the gardens of the Tuileries again; but "lose his own soul" came up to his lips still, as though some invisible power compelled him to whisper the impressive sentence. He attempted to whistle, and then to sing an air; but "lose his own soul" came up to his lips, and he could not help whispering the sentence again.

"This money don't belong to me," said he, in audible words. "I am not the happy owner of this princely sum. Unto but few is it appointed to be both rich and good-looking, and I am not of the number. I must be contented with my good looks."

It was no use to say it; he did not mean it, and the idea of Paris and its luxuries still haunted his imagination. He turned in, but it was only to think what thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would purchase; and "lose his own soul" not only came to his lips, but the solemn sentence seemed to be printed, in sombre-hued capitals, all over the cabin. He went to sleep at last; but "lose his own soul" followed him into his dreams, yelled in the distance and muttered in his ears by grinning demons, such as those with which his fancy peopled the realms of the lost. But he slumbered uneasily till the sun was far up on his day-journey. When he went on deck, he saw The Starry Flag, Jr. almost alongside. Captain Fairfield and the four seamen came on board.

The young skipper announced that the trip to the eastward, which had been postponed from the day before, would be commenced at once, and the party would be on board at eight o'clock. The steward had enough to do to keep his hands, if not his mind, engaged in making preparations for the occupants of the cabin. At the time appointed the party came on board, and the yacht sailed on her cruise.

Our story need not follow them during the ten days to which the trip was prolonged. It is enough to say that the party enjoyed every moment of the time. Even Mrs. Watson, who had no taste for the sea, was delighted; for Levi, at her request, was careful to bring the yacht to anchor in smooth water every night, and to stay in port when the sea was very rough.

During those ten days Mr. Ebénier considered and reconsidered, and then considered again, what he should do with the money that had so strangely come into his possession. He was disposed to use it; but the gospel sentence thundered in his ears, and trembled upon his lips, and rolled like the chariot of an avenger through his mind. Once or twice he was on the point of telling the captain all about the gold, but the vision of Parisian luxury checked him.

When the yacht entered Sandy Bay, the Caribbee lay anchored off the Point, and The Starry Flag moored a couple of cables' length from her.

CHAPTER XV.

ANOTHER LITTLE PLAN.

When The Starry Flag returned from her pleasant excursion to the eastward, Mr. Fairfield had so far recovered from the effects of his fall as to be out, and to be making his preparations again to catch dog-fish. It seemed to him to be absolutely necessary that he should make some more money. He felt like a poor man, and his stocks and bonds, notes and mortgages, afforded him but little comfort. His heart seemed to have been lost with the four thousand in gold.

When the yacht made her moorings, the old man was at the landing-place, getting ready to go dog-fishing the next day. His bones still ached, and nothing but bitter necessity could have induced one so feeble as he was to think of going off in a dory, miles from the shore, braving the perils of ocean and storm. He believed that poverty and want stared him in the face, and that he must go to the poorhouse if he did not make an effort to retrieve his great misfortune.

Dock Vincent was never far off when a vessel came into port; and, though he was very busy in making the preparations for his departure, he hastened down to the Point when The Starry Flag hove in sight.

"That's Levi's vessel, Squire Fairfield," said he.

"I s'pose 'tis," replied the old man, casting an indifferent glance to seaward.

"I sold my house to-day, Squire Fairfield," continued Dock, seating himself by the shore.

"Did ye? What d'ye git for 't?"

"Fifteen hundred dollars. It was worth two thousand; but, as I'm going to Australia right off, I couldn't afford to hold it for a better price."

"You'll have a good deal of money to kerry off with you."

"Not much. I paid six thousand for that vessel, and she's dog-cheap at that; but I shall make my fortune in her, carrying passengers."

"I hope you will, for you've done well by me, though you didn't find my money;" and the old man sighed heavily. "I reckon I shall never see nothin' more on't."

"I'm afraid you never will, Squire Fairfield. That nigger lied so like all possessed that Levi got clear, and then we couldn't do anything. I'm afraid it's too late to do anything more. I calculate that nigger and Levi understand one another pretty well. They fixed things between them, and I'm just as sure as I can be that your money went off in that vessel."

"In the yack?"

"Yes, in the yacht," replied Dock, warmly. "It was stowed away somewhere in her; but I suppose they have got rid of it by this time."

"You think I shan't never see it again," groaned the old man, with a piteous expression on his thin face.

"I'm sorry to say I don't think you ever will, Squire Fairfield."

"Then I'm a ruined man! I can't afford to lose four thousand dollars. It was e'enamost all I had, and I don't see but I must go to the poorhouse."

Dock Vincent took off his hat, rubbed his head, gazed upon the ground, and seemed to be in deep thought for several minutes. So was the miser in deep thought—brooding over his lost treasure.

"Squire Fairfield, when I begin to do a thing I always do it, sooner or later," said Dock, glancing doubtfully at the old man.

"You didn't find my money," added Mr. Fairfield.

"No; but I'm going to find it, or some more just like it. Squire Fairfield, I can put you in the way of making twenty thousand dollars just as easy as you lost that four thousand."

"You don't say!" exclaimed the old man, his sunken eyes glowing at the suggestion.

"I can; there isn't any doubt about it."

"You don't mean to steal it—do you?"

"Steal it! You don't think I'd steal—do you? If you do, I won't say anything more about my little plan."

Another little plan!

"Well, no; I never knowed you to steal nothin'."

"Twenty thousand dollars is a good deal of money, Squire Fairfield."

"So 'tis—more 'n I ever expect to see."

"But you shall see it, and have it, if you will take hold of my little plan."

"What is't?" asked the old man, curiously and eagerly.

"It's something we must keep still about. I'm going to make my fortune out of it, and yours too."

"What do you want to keep still for, ef you ain't go'n' to steal it?"

"I see it's no use to talk with you," said Dock, petulantly. "If you think I'd steal, I can't depend upon you, or you upon me. So there's an end of it."

Dock rose from his seat, looked at The Starry Flag, which was just coming to anchor, and then began to walk up the Point; but he expected to be called back, and he was not disappointed.

"Why don't you tell me on't, so I can know what you're go'n' to do?" demanded the miser.

"I shall not say anything to you. I don't think I can trust you. The business isn't all regular; but it isn't stealing," protested Dock.

"You can trust me, Cap'n Vincent, jest as long as you can trust anybody. You know I never says nothin' to nobody about business. I allers keeps things to myself," whined Mr. Fairfield.

"Will you keep this to yourself?"

"Sartin, I will."

"'Pon honor?" added Dock, earnestly.

"Yes; 'pon honor. Nobody ever knowed me to say nothin' about business. I never trust nobody, not even my wife, with business matters."

"Sit down, squire, and we'll talk it over between us," replied Dock, apparently satisfied with the old man's promise.

Mr. Fairfield, with some difficulty, seated himself on the rock, and with glaring eyes—so interested was he in a project which was to put twenty thousand dollars in his pocket—he listened to the rather prolix explanations of his companion. For twenty thousand dollars he would have sold his soul; but he was timid.

"I never fail in doing a thing without wanting to try it over again," Dock began. "I always put things through when I begin upon them."

The old man was not quite sure of this, but he did not interrupt the speaker.

"Three years ago twenty thousand dollars slipped through my fingers just as easy as though the money had been greased," continued Dock.

"I didn't know on't."

"Yes, you did. Watson had his money all ready to pay over to me when I had the girl before, and if Levi Fairfield hadn't come between me and him, I should have had the money. Now, Squire Fairfield, I'm going to try that over again; and I'm not going to fail this time. I've got things fixed so that I can't fail."

"I donno about that," said the old man.

"I know, and I'm just as certain about it as though the thing was done already. But I'm not going to tell you anything more about it than I'm obliged to, and then you won't know anything about it, and can't be held responsible for it."

"I don't see how I'm go'n' to make any money by it," interposed the miser, who was more interested in this part of the plan than any other.

"Don't you, squire? How much money do you suppose Watson's worth?"

"I donno."

"More than a million! I know that to be a fact; and I shouldn't wonder if he was worth two millions: folks in Boston think he is."

"He's spendin' on't all on yacks and sech things."

"What that yacht cost to him is no more than a copper to you and me. He don't mind a hundred thousand dollars any more than you would half a cent."

"Not so much!"

"But he don't believe in throwin' on't away."

"I'm going to bleed him just seventy thousand dollars—fifty thousand for myself, and twenty thousand for you."

"I don't see how it's go'n' to be done."

"He shall pay the money over to you; that's what I want you for."

"Then they'll ketch me, and put me in jail," suggested the old man, timorously.

"Nonsense! They won't do it. The whole matter will be between you and Watson. You won't know anything about the business—not a thing. All you've got to do is to take the money and keep it till I call for it. After the girl has been gone a month or two, he will be glad to give you twice as much as I ask. I shall get her aboard the Caribbee."

"How you go'n' to do it? She won't go with you, any more'n she'll go with the evil sperit."

"I'll take care of that. You are to know nothing about it. I shall leave things so that Mr. Watson will go to you, and offer to pay the money without your saying a word about it beforehand. All you have to do is to keep what he gives you till I call for it."

"I donno about it."

"It's all right. We shan't hurt the girl. She shall have a good state-room, and my wife will be on board to see to her. I tell you I'm going to have this thing done over again."

"Where's Levi go'n' to be all this time? He sticks to the gal all the time, and if you git her off, he'll follow you way round the world."

"He won't know anything about it; besides, I calculate he'll be in jail for stealing your money before that time."

"You don't think so!"

"Yes, I do; I'm going to fix that nigger, and I'll bet Levi won't have his wool to hold on to much longer."

"But I don't understand nothin' about this business, Cap'n Vincent," said the old man, doubtfully.

"I don't want you to understand anything about it. It's all right as it is. When the money comes, you hold on to it."

"Ain't you go'n' off to Australia?"

"Of course I am."

"Then how you go'n' to git the money?"

"Leave all that to me," replied Dock, impatiently. "If you don't know anything, you'll keep out of trouble. You will make your twenty thousand dollars out of it, and that ought to satisfy you. Now, Squire Fairfield, there's only just one thing more to be done."

"What's that?"

"I'll give you a chance to make another ten thousand, if you like."

The old man's eyes brightened again, as he asked how it was to be done.

"I find I'm going to be a little short fitting out. I'm going to take out some notions to sell that will pay me five dollars for one; but I haven't got the money to do it," continued Dock.

The old man's chin dropped, and he looked sad and sorrowful.

"I want ten thousand dollars more than I've got. I shall make forty thousand out of the venture, and I can afford to pay a heavy interest. I will give you ten thousand for the use of ten thousand."

"I hain't got no sech money," protested the miser.

"But you can raise it."

"I ain't sure of ever gittin' on't back."

"Yes, you are. You will lend me ten thousand dollars, and then take twenty thousand out of my fifty when Watson pays it over to you."

"Perhaps he never'll pay it over to me."

"You may be sure he will. If he don't, he never will see his daughter again. He will be glad of the chance to pay it. But if he don't, you know, you shall have my note, and I will pay it as soon as I've turned my notions."

Mr. Fairfield, eager as he was to make the ten thousand dollars, had no more idea then of letting the sum asked for pass out of his hands than he had of giving away that amount. It was not his style to let money go from him without the best of security. The approach of a boat interrupted Dock's argument, and the old man promised to think of the proposition.

"I shall not want that dory any more, and I'll give it to you, Squire Fairfield," said Dock, hoping his munificence would touch the money-lender's heart, as he walked away.

"I'm much obleeged to you; it will sarve me a good turn," replied Mr. Fairfield.

"Think over my offer, and I'll see you again soon," added Dock, as he passed out of hearing.