"None of your impudence, Phil. This isn't the way to treat one who has used you as well as I have."

"For all the kindness you have bestowed upon me, I am very grateful; and I am only sorry you were not worthy of the confidence I felt in your integrity."

"We need not quarrel, Phil," said he, after a short pause. "We have always been good friends; let us be so still. I saw a scuffle between you and Mr. Waterford over at the creek."

"And you thought I had the worst of it."

"I saw him pitch you out of the boat."

"If you had staid a moment longer in sight, you would have seen me pitch him out afterwards."

I defined and explained my position, and justified it as well as I was able. Miss Collingsby had appealed to me for help, and in rendering it, under the circ.u.mstances, I did not feel disposed to let the ownership of the yacht defeat my good intentions to save her from the wiles of a villain.

"Do you call Ben Waterford a villain?" he demanded.

"The dictionary does not afford me any better word to express my opinion of him. I wish he was the only one I knew."

"Do you refer to me?"

I explained myself more fully on this point, and the junior partner of our house mildly expressed his rage. I suppose his stinging conscience did not permit him to do so in a more determined manner. I told him that Mr. Collingsby was in possession of all the facts relating to his defalcations, both of the money and the notes of the firm. He bit his lip in silence for a few moments, as if arranging his mental forces for an a.s.sault upon me.

"Phil, you have made another stupid blunder," said he. "As I have told you plainly before, you are insufferably conceited. You think you know enough for two men, when you know just half enough for one. That's what's the matter. You have made a pretty kettle of fish."

"I think you made it yourself."

"Don't be impudent. We must return to Chicago at once."

"That's one of my sentiments exactly," I replied. "Shall we weigh anchor now?"

"Yes, if you like, though there is no wind. I told you Mr. Collingsby didn't know anything about the business, and would be alarmed at your ridiculous statements."

"He knows all about the business now, and, as you say, he is a great deal alarmed."

"I a.s.sure you, Phil, upon my honor, that everything about the business is all right. You have made another blunder."

"I wish I had."

"You have."

"You drew the balance at the bank, and discounted over thirty thousand dollars' worth of notes."

"I did; and as a member of the firm, I had a perfect right to do so. I had a chance to make fifty thousand on one lot of lumber. I was not to be prevented from doing so by a whim of my partner. He prefers generally to furnish money, rather than put our business paper on the market. I gave him the opportunity to do so. He refused, and I raised the money as I could. This is simply a question between Mr. Collingsby and me. When he wishes to dissolve, I'm ready."

"May I ask what you are doing over here, with such a heavy transaction on your hands?"

"On my way to buy the lumber. I have the money in my bag," said he, holding up the article.

"Do you happen to have a package in your bag with my name upon it, taken from the safe?"

"I have; and I happen to have also an order from my mother for you to deliver it to me."

"Indeed."

"Here it is," he added, handing me a crumpled paper.

It certainly was an order, setting forth that all differences between Mrs. Whippleton and her son had been settled, and requiring me to give him the papers.

"When I was ready to go, I could not find you; so I took the papers; but you have the order now, and I hope you are satisfied on that point."

I was not exactly satisfied; but I felt that Mr. Whippleton was arguing me down, if he was not convincing me.

"How about those invoices?" I continued. "The agent of the Michigan Pine Company says he sold you no such lumber."

"If he will tell me so to my face, I should like to have him do it. I will give him an opportunity to-morrow."

Mr. Whippleton was indignant. He talked honest, and I could not gainsay him. I was almost inclined to believe that I was a fool, and had made a blunder; but as he was willing to go to Chicago, I was satisfied to leave the adjustment of the whole matter to Mr. Collingsby. We went on deck, and as there was a little breeze, we tripped the anchor, and stood up the lagoon. I was bewildered; but my heaviest catastrophe was yet to come.

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN WHICH PHIL, IN THE MARIAN, GETS THE WEATHER-GAGE OF THE FLORINA.

There was scarcely a breath of wind when we weighed anchor. Mr.

Whippleton insisted upon running up to the Florina, in order to leave his tender, and to obtain certain articles he had left on board. The breeze entirely failed before we had made half the distance, and we were obliged to anchor again to prevent being drifted ash.o.r.e. Mr.

Whippleton and old Peter took both the tenders, and visited the Florina, leaving Marian and myself alone again.

"I am so thankful that you had no quarrel," said she, as we sat together in the standing-room, watching the receding boats.

"So am I, Marian."

"And it seems that you were mistaken in regard to his accounts."

"I don't think I was," I replied, rather warmly. "I am perplexed and bothered; but I don't see how I can be mistaken."

"Mr. Whippleton would not be willing to return to Chicago, if he had been such a villain as you say."

"I don't think he would. That is really all the evidence I have that he has not been stealing his partner's money. I don't understand it; but if he will return to Chicago, that is all I desire. I prefer that he should settle the matter with your father."

"But he knew all about Mr. Waterford's plans," added she, turning away from me, though the gloom of the evening hid her blushes.

"Yes; he said he did. He told me that, if Mr. Waterford loved you, and you loved Mr. Waterford, he could see no reason why you should not be happy together, in spite of the prejudices of your father."

"I never consented to elope with Mr. Waterford. It is true that I listened to his proposal, several weeks ago; but I did not agree to it.

He did not renew it when I asked for time to think of it. I don't love him now; I can't say that I ever did, though I was rather pleased with him. After this, I'm sure I shall always think more of a gentleman's character than of his looks and manners."

"I think the character is of vastly more importance," I replied, judging from observation rather than experience.