Haste and Waste; Or, the Young Pilot of Lake Champlain Part 2

"I'm glad you've got home, Lawry, for Mr. Sherwood has been after you three times," said Mrs. Wilford, when the young pilot had been duly welcomed by all the family.

"What does he want?" asked Lawry.

"His little steamboat is at Port Henry, and he wants you to go up and pilot her down."

"The _Woodville?_"

"Yes, that's her name, I believe."

"Well, I'm all ready to go."

"Sit down and eat your dinner.

"I've been to dinner."

"Mr. Sherwood wanted you to go up in the _Sherman_; but it is too late for her, and he may go in the night boat."

"I'm ready when he is. Father, there is a gentleman outside who wants to go over the lake; and there is a team waiting in the road,"

continued Lawry.

"They must wait till I've done my dinner," replied the ferryman.

"Who is the gentleman?"

"Mr. Randall; he is a director in a bank, and has six thousand dollars with him."

"I suppose so; every man but me has six thousand dollars in his pocket. Where's he going to?"

"To Sh.o.r.eham, and he wants to get there by five o'clock, if he can."

"What's he traveling with so much money for?"

"I don't know. It is in his coat pocket, and it would have gone overboard if it hadn't been for me."

The ferryman finished his dinner in moody silence. He seemed to be thinking of the subject always uppermost in his mind, his thoughts stimulated, no doubt, by the fact that his expected pa.s.senger carried a large sum of money on his person.

"Mr. Randall is in a hurry, father," interposed Lawry, when the ferryman had sat a good half-hour after his son's arrival.

"He must wait till I get ready. He's got money, and I haven't; but I'm just as good as he is. I don't know why I'm poor when so many men are rich. But I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," said he, with more earnestness than he usually exhibited. "I'm too honest for my own good. I'm going to do as other men do; and I shall wake up rich some morning, as they do. Then I sha'n't have to go when folks blow the horn. They'll be willing to wait for me then."

"Don't keep the gentleman waiting, father," added Mrs. Wilford.

"I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," continued the ferryman, still pursuing the exciting line of thought he had before taken up.

"I'm going to be rich, by hook or by crook."

"This making haste to get rich ruins men sometimes, husband; and haste makes waste then."

"If I can only get rich, I'll risk being ruined," said John Wilford, as he rose from the table and put on his hat.

He looked more moody and discontented than usual. Instead of hastening to do the work which was waiting for him, he stood before the window, looking out into the garden. Mrs. Wilford told him the gentleman would be impatient, and he finally left the house and walked down to the ferry-boat.

"I wonder what your father is thinking about," said Mrs. Wilford, as the door closed behind him.

"I don't know," replied Lawry; "he don't seem to be thinking that people won't wait forever for him. I guess I'll go up to Mr.

Sherwood's, and see when he wants me."

"You must fix up a little before you go," replied the prudent mother. "They are very grand people up at Mr. Sherwood's, and you must look as well as you can."

"I'll put on my best clothes," added Lawry.

In half an hour he had changed his dress, and looked like another boy. Mrs. Wilford adjusted a few stray locks of his hair, and as he put on his new straw hat, and left the house, her eye followed him with a feeling of motherly pride. He was a good boy, and had the reputation of being a very smart boy, and she may be pardoned for the parental vanity with which she regarded him. While he visits the house of Mr. Sherwood, we will follow his father down to the ferry, where the bank director was impatiently waiting his appearance.

After the shower the sun had come out brightly, and the wind had abated so that there was hardly breeze enough to ruffle the waters of the lake. It was intensely warm, and Mr. Randall had taken off his coat again, but he was careful to keep it on his arm. At the approach of the ferryman he went into the boat, where he was followed by the vehicle that had been waiting so long for a pa.s.sage across the lake.

John Wilford pushed off the boat with a pole, and trimmed the sail, which was the motive power of the craft when there was any wind. The ferry-boat was a large bateau, or flatboat, the slope at the ends being so gradual that a wagon could pa.s.s down over it to the bottom of the boat. This inclined plane was extended by a movable platform about six feet wide, which swung horizontally up and down, like a great trap-door. When the ferry-boat touched the sh.o.r.e, this platform was let down upon the ground, forming a slope on which carriages were driven into and out of the bateau.

The wind was very light, and the clumsy craft moved very slowly--so slowly that the pa.s.sage promised to be a severe trial to the patience of Mr. Randall, who hoped to reach Sh.o.r.eham by five o'clock. He was not in a very amiable frame of mind; he was angry at the delay in starting, and he was vexed because the wind would not blow. He walked nervously from the forward platform to the after one, with his coat still on his arm.

"We shall not get over to-night," said he impatiently, as he stopped by the side of the ferryman, and threw his coat down upon the platform, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Yes, I guess we shall," replied John Wilford.

"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three o'clock."

"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."

"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director petulantly; "you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."

"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.

Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience at the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments gazing at the Vermont sh.o.r.e, and appeared to be engaged in estimating the distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not satisfactory, and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With hasty step he walked aft again.

"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as he stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.

"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.

When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop, true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a watery grave, as the case might be.

"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled off the platform into the water.

"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.

"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned the unhappy bank director.

CHAPTER III

SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS