Desk and Debit Part 41

"I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take aim."

"Whiskey has been our friend, this time."

"It is more apt to be our friend when our enemies drink it than when we drink it ourselves. That was a happy expedient of yours, to give Peter a dram in the eyes."

"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Twan't happy for me, miss."

"Because you were doing wrong," said Marian.

"It was a brave act of yours, my dear cousin, and I am proud to call you so now," I added.

"I am not a baby. I don't know what made me think of that; I wasn't strong enough to do anything else."

"You couldn't have done any better."

"Gorrificious! I think you could, miss," interposed the cook.

"I blinded Peter with the whiskey, and you struck Mr. Whippleton with the whiskey bottle, and he was so tipsy he couldn't reach us till it was too late," added Marian. "But, Philip, you must be hungry. You haven't eaten anything to-day."

"I am not hungry, but I am faint," I replied.

"Take a little drop of whiskey, Mr. Philip," said Peter, turning to me.

"Not a drop: I would faint away a dozen times before I would touch a drop. Go down and bring me up some tea, and cook me a beefsteak, Peter."

"Yes, sir," replied he, hastening below, apparently glad to get out of the reach of a pistol ball.

"I can scarcely believe that we are still safe, Philip," continued Marian.

"I owe my safety to you, cousin."

"And I certainly owe mine to you."

"We can call it square, then; but not many young ladies, I am sure, would have been so courageous as you were. The battle was lost when you came to the rescue."

"I shall never cease to be grateful to you for your care and protection, Philip."

"And I shall be just as grateful to you. Let us both thank G.o.d, from the depths of our hearts, for his goodness to us."

"Do you know where we are, Philip?" she asked, glancing over the waste of waters ahead of us.

"Not exactly; but I think I can find my way back to Chicago."

"The lake is large, and we may get lost."

"No; if we keep on in our course, we shall come out somewhere. I don't know this side of the lake, but I am tolerably familiar with the other side. We crossed the lake, and have sailed to the northward since one or two o'clock this morning, when Mr. Whippleton hit me on the head."

"It was four o'clock in the morning; I asked Peter," said Marian.

"Very well. It was not far from two when we came about this afternoon.

We sailed towards the north about ten hours, and I should judge that we made at least fifty miles. I think I can tell by this map nearly where we are. As I understand it now, our course is south-west, and we have not less than a hundred miles to make."

"How long will it take?"

"As the breeze is now, it will take twenty hours. We shall arrive some time to-morrow."

Peter brought my dinner on deck, and though my appet.i.te had been spoiled by the rough experience of the trip, I ate enough to make me feel tolerably strong. Marian kept the helm all the afternoon, and I lay upon the cushions where I obtained a little sleep, which made my head feel better. The fair helmswoman promised to wake me if anything went wrong. About sunset Mr. Whippleton came to his senses again. He had been asleep most of the time, for we heard him snore.

"O, my head!" groaned he, as he opened his eyes, and then rolled off the cushions in his efforts to get up.

I called Peter, and we put him back again.

"My head! My head!" repeated he.

"Mine felt so this morning," I replied, in consoling tones.

He struggled to rise, but the rope had been carefully secured.

"Untie me, Phil," cried he, angrily.

"Excuse me," I replied. "I have you where I want you, and for your sake I hope we shall have a quick pa.s.sage to Chicago."

"Is she headed for Chicago?"

"Yes, and has been for four hours. The tables are turned."

"Untie me, Phil. I am in great pain."

"If I can do anything to relieve your pain, I will, but I will not untie you."

He pleaded and begged for me to release him, but I dared not do so. He complained bitterly of his head, and made me various offers to let him go. I a.s.sured him that I should hand him over to the police the next day; until then, I would do anything I could to make him comfortable, except to give him his liberty. I brought up the bedding and pillows belonging to one of the berths in the cabin, and prepared an easy couch beneath him. I directed Peter to give him his supper, and to feed him like a child. He said he was comfortable then, but begged for whiskey.

I refused to honor this demand; and finding that Peter was boozing more than I deemed best, I emptied all the bottles into the lake, with the hope that the fish would not be harmed by it.

Marian retired at an early hour; but she came on deck in the middle of the night, and insisted upon taking the helm; yet I dared not sleep, for the wind was freshening, and we spent the rest of the night in talking. At daylight I discovered the steeples of Chicago in the distance. We had a stiff breeze then, and at six o'clock I ran the Marian into the river.

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN WHICH PHIL VISITS MR. COLLINGSBY AGAIN, AND IS A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.

Having run the Marian into the river, I brought her alongside the pier at her usual landing-place. I was very tired, and my head still ached severely. I had hardly touched the pier before a man stepped on board without any invitation, and came aft to the standing-room where I was.

"Who runs this boat now?" demanded he.

"I have been running her for the last few hours," I replied.