"What are you going to do with that, Philip?" asked Marian, as I returned to the standing-room, with the rifle in my hand.

"I may have occasion to use it; but it is not loaded."

"Don't shoot any one, Philip--pray don't."

"I shall not be likely to do so while the rifle is not loaded."

"But you may do something you don't intend to do."

"I certainly don't intend to fire a rifle that isn't loaded; and I shall not shoot any one."

I had not yet decided what to do, though a desperate scheme was flitting through my mind. If Mr. Whippleton slept in the cabin of the Florina that night, it would be possible to board the yacht by stealth in the darkness, fall upon him, and bind him hand and foot. The plan looked practicable to me, and though I had not yet arranged the details of it in my mind, or considered its difficulties, I was disposed to undertake it. I did not care, therefore, to have the negro return to the Florina with the intelligence that I was in possession of the Marian. I intended, therefore, to make him sleep on board of our boat.

Before I had fully determined in what manner I should detain the cook on board of the Marian, the boat came alongside. I turned my head away from the man, so that her need not discover that I was not Mr.

Waterford before he came on board. I opened a conversation with Miss Collingsby, and appeared to take no notice of the arrival. The negro was evidently one of the lazy kind, for he did not offer to come on board.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD PETE COMES AFTER INFORMATION. Page 247.]

"How do you do, Mr. Waterford?" said the cook, as he brought his boat under the quarter of the yacht.

"How do you do?" I replied, in a gruff tone.

"Gorrificious! Don't you know old Peter?" exclaimed the cook, apparently wounded at my want of recognition of him.

"How are you, old Peter?" I added, coughing violently to disguise my voice.

"Gorrificious, Mr. Waterford! I reckon you've got a bad cold. I've got a letter for you from Mr. Whippleton," continued the cook.

"Take it--will you, Marian?" I added, still coughing. "I don't want him to see me;" and I retreated into the cabin.

"Thank you miss," said Peter, as he delivered the letter. "I'm right down sorry Mr. Waterford has got such a terrible cough--on his wedding day, too, miss. Gorrificious, Miss Collingsby! Mr. Waterford is a lucky gentleman; but he desarves you. He's a fine gentleman--liberal to old Peter and all the boys."

Marian made no reply to this speech, though, when she appeared in the cabin, her cheeks and forehead were crimson with confusion.

"Did you hear what old Peter said," she asked.

"I did; and it is plain enough that Mr. Whippleton is in the secret, and has even told it to his cook."

"If I ever get home again, I shall not disobey my father. To think that the wretch told Mr. Whippleton all about it beforehand."

"I supposed he had," I replied, as I opened the letter.

"What does he say, Philip?" asked Marian, curiously.

"'Dear Ben'--that's the way he begins. 'How is the fawn?'"

"The fawn?"

"Probably meaning Miss Collingsby," I replied. "'I was afraid Phil would give you some trouble when I saw you had him on board. But you fixed him handsomely. I saw him tip over the bow of the boat. If you hadn't got rid of him, I should have gone ash.o.r.e and helped you. I'm glad it's all right. Why didn't you run up the river farther, and anchor near the Florina? I thought I wouldn't call upon you till I knew how the fawn was. If she is agreeable, we will run to St. Joseph in the morning, and have your business done before noon.'"

"The brute!" exclaimed Marian, indignantly. "This has cured me of all the romance I ever had. I used to think my father was very harsh; but now I know he was right. He knew this man better than I did."

The familiarity and coa.r.s.eness of the epistle were very offensive to her, and she could hardly restrain her indignation.

"'P.S.' I continued, reading from the letter. 'In my hurry I forgot the most important part of my stores. Please send me a couple of bottles of whiskey, and let me know all about the fawn.'"

That was all; and Mr. Whippleton wanted but two things--whiskey and information in regard to the fawn. I intended to furnish him with both, as the representative of Mr. Ben Waterford. I found a sheet of paper in the cabin, and I proceeded to describe the condition of the "fawn."

"Dear Charley," I began; and I had heard Mr. Waterford apply this familiar name to our junior partner: "The fawn is very uneasy, and does not like the idea of staying over night in this lagoon. I don't think it is safe for you to remain here. Phil said the officers were on your track, that Collingsby was after you with a sharp stick. Phil must have spoken to the fawn, for she is very suspicious. I shall have to leave in order to quiet her. I am all alone, and can't cook, or do anything, while sailing. I am in a fix. I want Peter badly. Can't you let me have him? I need him more than you do. Why can't you leave the Florina here, and come on board of the Marian? I send you four bottles of whiskey.

"P.S. I got a rap on the right hand in the fight, and can't write much."

I wrote this with a pencil, and in a style which would pa.s.s for anybody's handwriting who had been wounded in a fight. I folded it up, and having placed the four bottles of whiskey in a basket, I asked Marian to deliver them to the cook, while I continued to cough vigorously. I stood at the companion-way while my fair companion did the errand.

"Gorrificious, Miss Collingsby!" exclaimed the negro. "Whiskey's plenty as water, but none of it for old Peter."

"Take this letter to Mr. Whippleton," added Marian.

"Yes, miss. Old Peter'll do that. Can you told me if the letter says how many bottles of whiskey they is in the basket?"

"It says four."

"Marian," I called to her. "Here is one for Peter."

I gave her the extra bottle, and she presented it to the cook, who was more grateful for the gift than he would have been for its value in cash. I am willing to acknowledge that it was against my principles to give liquor to any one; but the probability was, that I should have a battle with the master, who would perhaps be aided by the man; and I regarded the whiskey as an ally of mine, as long as they, and not I, drank it. As soon as Peter had departed, my cough improved, and I ventured on deck again. I was sure that what I had written would make a breeze, when Mr. Whippleton read it, and I tried to prepare myself for whatever might happen.

CHAPTER XXII.

IN WHICH PHIL IS BEWILDERED, AND THE MARIAN SAILS FOR CHICAGO.

"What next, Philip?" asked Marian, when I had seated myself in the standing-room.

"That boat will return next with Mr. Whippleton," I replied, picking up the rifle which I had left upon the cushion.

"I hope there will be no violence," she added, anxiously.

"I hope not; but what shall I do? Shall I let him rob your father of half the capital of the firm? Shall I let him rob his mother of nearly all she has in the world? If I don't strike when I have an opportunity, everything will be lost."

"What do you mean by his mother?"

"The package which Mr. Whippleton took from the safe was placed in my charge by his mother, to keep it from falling into his hands. She was very sick, and may not live many days. Your father had no idea what a villain his partner was."

"I am sure he had not; but can't you manage it without any violence?"