Desk and Debit Part 36

"Do you think Mr. Whippleton will come back, Philip?"

"Come back? Yes," I replied, rather startled by the question.

"He may take one of those boats, go on sh.o.r.e, and make his way across the state to the east."

"Then you think it is possible that I was not mistaken in regard to the accounts of Mr. Whippleton?"

"Of course it is possible. It just occurred to me that he might have taken this method of getting rid of you."

"You are right, Marian. I ought to have gone with them, for they have taken both boats, and there isn't a breath of wind."

"I don't mean that it is so, only that it might be."

"Now I think of it, he said in his letter that he had sold the Florina, and was to deliver her in St. Joseph to-morrow. If he had not intended to have cleared out, he would not have sold her. I am afraid I have made another blunder."

I was vexed at my own want of precaution. Mr. Whippleton had taken both tenders, and it seemed to me now that he had done so in order to prevent me from following him. He intended to leave his own with his yacht, and to return in that belonging to the Marian. I do not even now know that Miss Collingsby had not suggested his real purpose, for while I was vexing myself about the blunder I had made, the waters were rippled by a gentle breeze. I sprang forward and hauled up the anchor with a celerity that was worthy of the occasion. The mainsail was still up, and taking the helm, I ran the yacht up the lagoon. I could just see the outline of the Florina in the gloom, and a few puffs of wind carried us up to her.

There was a light in the cabin of the Florina, and both the tenders were alongside. Mr. Whippleton had not gone yet, whatever he intended to do, and I breathed freely again.

"Gorrificious!" shouted Peter from the deck of the Florina. "Where you goin' now?"

"Stand by to catch a line," I replied.

"All ready; heave the line," added the cook.

In a moment we were fast to the other yacht, and I firmly determined not to lose sight of Mr. Whippleton again, under any circ.u.mstances. We had hardly made fast before the wind died out again. It was only a puff which had come to my aid, as it were providentially, and had enabled me to gain my point. I had noticed, when Mr. Whippleton left the Florina, that he took with him the leather bag, which contained his money and valuable papers; but I had thought nothing of the circ.u.mstance at the time, for it seemed to me quite natural that he should be very careful of an article of so much value. If that providential puff of air had not enabled me to throw the Marian alongside his yacht, I am satisfied, in the light of subsequent events, that he would have made an attempt to elude me. He could have gone on sh.o.r.e in the tender, lived in the woods, or at the cabin of some settler, for a week or more, until I was tired of waiting for him, and then taken to his yacht, and escaped by the way of Canada.

"What are you doing up here, Phil?" shouted the subject of all my anxious solicitude, as he came out of the cabin of the Florina.

"We had a little breeze, and I came up to save you the trouble of rowing," I replied.

"You have a talent for making blunders, Phil," growled he, in a tone which did much to confirm my suspicions.

"Not a bad blunder, since I am safe here," I replied.

"You might have run her aground, and we should have had to leave her here all summer. Don't you know any better than to run about in the night where you are not acquainted? Is that the way you use other people's boats?"

"The Marian is still afloat, and safe. Do you want any help?"

"No; no such help as you can give. You can't do anything without making a blunder. I should like to knock the conceit out of you."

The more blunders he charged upon me, and the more savage he was, the better a.s.sured I became that I had hit the nail on the head. As we were playing at cross-purposes, it was evident that all my direct thrusts would be regarded as blunders by him. What suited him could not possibly suit me, under the present circ.u.mstances. I did not know what he was doing on board of the Florina, and I did not care, so long as I knew where he was. He went into the cabin after he had expressed his mind to me, and I did not see him again for over an hour.

"You must be tired, Marian," I said to my fair companion, as I heard her gape.

"I am tired, Philip."

"Why not lie down, then? I will watch over you, and see that no harm comes to you while you sleep."

"Thank you, Philip; you are very kind. I am afraid I could not sleep if I did lie down."

"You can at least rest yourself. You shall have the cabin all to yourself. We may not leave this lagoon before morning."

"Where will the rest of you sleep, if I take the cabin all to myself?"

"I shall sleep on deck. These cushions are as good a bed as I want."

"And Mr. Whippleton?"

"If we stay here, he will sleep on board of his own yacht. If not, he will probably stay at the helm."

"I am very tired, for it seems to me that I never endured so much in one day in my life before," she replied, rising, and going into the cabin.

I went with her, and secured the door which led into the cook-room, and showed her how to fasten the slide at the companion-way. I drew the blue curtains over the deck lights, and it seemed to me that maiden never had a more inviting chamber than the little cabin of the Marian.

I bade her good night, and helped her close the door. Resuming my seat on the cushions of the standing-room, I thanked G.o.d that he had preserved her from the wiles of the villain; and I hoped she did not herself forget to acknowledge the goodness of Him who always watches over the innocent.

There was no wind, and no sign of any. The sky was cloudless, and there was not a ripple on the lagoon, not a rustle in the forest that bordered it. I had brought up a blanket and an old coat from the cabin to serve me as bed-clothes; and stretching myself on the cushions, I soon went to sleep. I did not believe that Mr. Whippleton could leave in the boat without my knowledge, for at such times I always slept with one eye open. If a breeze came, it would shake the mainsail and rattle the sheet-blocks near my head, and wake me. I had been up half of the preceding night with Mrs. Whippleton, and I was very tired myself. I could not foresee what would happen within the next few days, and I deemed it prudent to economize my strength.

So far as the wind was concerned, my calculation was correct. It did shake the mainsail, and rattle the sheet-blocks, and I was aroused from my slumbers. I raised myself upon my bed, to a.s.sure myself that the Florina was still near me. That was the very thing, however, of which I could not a.s.sure myself. In fact she was not near me. I sprang to my feet, and felt that I had made a blunder, but such a one as Mr.

Whippleton would not charge upon me. The Marian was adrift, and the breeze was carrying her farther up the lagoon, where she might get aground. My first care was to secure her from any such accident, which would indeed have been a catastrophe to me. All I had to do was to put the helm down, and bring the yacht up into the wind, which came only in light puffs. It was from the westward, and I had just slant enough to enable me to lay a course towards the lake.

As soon as I got her head to the breeze, I hoisted the jib. Seating myself at the helm, I studied the course, and kept a sharp lookout ahead for the Florina. I was satisfied that the first breath of wind had waked me, and that the other yacht could not be far from me. In a few moments I was a.s.sured of the correctness of my calculation, for I discovered the Florina behind a point of land. She had come thus far without hoisting her jib, and had not been able to lay very close to the wind. Mr. Whippleton knew the navigation of the lagoon, and had run his yacht where I should not have dared to go. Probably he had not hoisted his jib before, lest the noise of it should wake me; but I saw it go up almost as soon as I caught sight of her.

I do not like to accuse other people of making blunders, but I was sure that Mr. Whippleton had made one in not standing directly out of the lagoon; but doubtless he expected to have his own time for the operation. As it was, I had the weather-gage of him. He had run over to leeward so far, with a projecting point of land between him and the mouth of the creek, that I should be off the headland before he could reach it.

I rubbed my hands with delight when I realized the situation, and saw that I could not help cutting him out. The neglect on his part to hoist the jib had lost him the battle, while my jib had won it for me. The slant of the wind would enable me to go clear of the point, off which I had first anch.o.r.ed the Marian, while Mr. Whippleton would be obliged to make two tacks in order to weather it. But he had the wind freer than I, for he had evidently run off to leeward for the sole purpose of setting his jib without disturbing me.

As I was approaching the point of land, the Florina came within hailing distance of me.

"Marian, ahoy! Where are you going, Phil?" shouted Mr. Whippleton, wrathfully.

"After you."

"Another blunder, you blockhead! Come about, and take me on board."

I was willing to comply with this request, for it seemed reasonable to me. Both boats were heaved to, and Mr. Whippleton put off in one of the tenders.

CHAPTER XXIV.

IN WHICH PHIL GOES TO SLEEP, AND HIS SEVEREST CATASTROPHE COMES.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Mr. Whippleton, angrily, as he came alongside of the Marian in the tender.

"I was only looking to see where you were going. I was afraid you might forget that I was here, and go off without me."