The Boy Pilot of the Lakes Part 8

For two or three days after that the voyage proceeded quietly. On the third day the ship stopped at a small city, where part of the cargo was discharged. Nat and the purser were kept busy checking off, and verifying cargo lists, and, when the _Jessie Drew_ was ready to proceed, Nat took to the mate a duplicate list of what cargo had been discharged.

"Sure this is right?" asked Mr. b.u.mstead surlily.

"Yes, sir," replied Nat, more pleasantly than he felt.

"Don't be too sure, young man. I'll catch you in a mistake yet, and when I do--well, look out--that's all."

He tossed the list on his desk, and, as he did so, some papers slipped to the floor of his office. He stooped to pick them up, and something dropped from his pocket.

It was a flat leather book, such as is used by some men in which to carry their money or papers. Nat idly glanced at it as the mate restored it to his pocket. Then the boy caught sight of something that made his heart beat quickly.

For printed in gold letters on the outside of the wallet was a name, and the name was that of his dead father, James Morton!

"That pocketbook! Where did you get it?" he eagerly asked of the mate.

"Pocketbook? What pocketbook?"

"The one that dropped from your pocket just now."

"That? Why, that's mine. I've had it a good while."

"But it has my father's name on it! I saw it. It is just like one he used to carry. He always had it with him. Let me see it. Perhaps it has some of his papers in it!"

Nat was excited. He reached out his hand, as if to take the wallet.

"You must be dreaming," exclaimed the mate, and Nat noticed that his hands trembled. "That is my pocketbook. It has no name on it."

"But I saw it," insisted Nat.

"I tell you it hasn't! Are you always going to dispute with me? Now get out of here, I want to do my work," and the mate fairly thrust Nat out of the room, and locked the door.

"I'm sure that was my father's pocketbook," murmured the boy, as he walked slowly along the deck. "How did the mate get it? I wonder if he knew my father? There is something queer about this. I must tell Mr.

Weatherby."

Nat would have thought there was something exceedingly queer about it, if he could have seen what the mate was doing just then. For Mr.

b.u.mstead had taken the wallet from his pocket, and, with his knife, he was carefully sc.r.a.ping away the gold letters that spelled the name of James Morton--Nat's father.

CHAPTER VII

NAT HAS AN ACCIDENT

Nat vainly tried to recall some of the circ.u.mstances connected with his father's death, that would give him a clue to the reason why the mate had Mr. Morton's pocketbook. But the trouble was Nat could remember very little. The sad news had stunned him so that he was in a sort of dream for a long time afterward.

The body had been recovered, after several days, but there was nothing in the pockets of the clothes, as far as Nat knew, to indicate that Mr. Morton had left any money, or anything that represented it. Yet Nat knew his father was a careful and saving man, who had good abilities for business.

"If I wasn't sure it was his pocketbook, I would say that there might be plenty of such wallets, with the name James Morton on them,"

thought Nat. "The name is not an uncommon one, but I can't be mistaken in thinking that was poor dad's wallet. How the mate got it is a mystery, unless he took it from my father. Or, perhaps dad gave it to him, yet I don't believe he would do that either, for he once told me the wallet was a present from mother, and I know he would not part with it. I must consult with Mr. Weatherby."

Nat did not get a chance to speak to the pilot about the matter until the next day. Mr. Weatherby looked grave when he heard our hero's story.

"Are you sure you weren't mistaken?" he asked.

"Positive," was Nat's answer. "I knew that wallet too well."

"Then I'll make some inquiries. Suppose you come with me."

Nat and the pilot found the mate in his office, looking over some papers.

"Nat thinks you have something that belonged to his father," said Mr.

Weatherby, pleasantly.

"He does, eh?" snapped the mate. "Well, he's mistaken, that's all I've got to say. Now I wish you'd get out of here. I'm busy."

"But it won't do any harm to make some inquiries," went on the pilot.

"Do you mind showing me the pocketbook?"

"There it is!" said Mr. b.u.mstead suddenly, pulling the wallet in question from his pocket. "He said it had his father's name on? Well, it hasn't, you can see for yourself," and he quickly turned the pocketbook from side to side, to show that there were no letters on it. Then, without giving Mr. Weatherby a chance to look at it closely, he thrust it back into his pocket.

"Are you satisfied?" he demanded. Nat hesitated.

"I--I suppose so," answered the pilot. "There is no name on that. Nat must have been mistaken."

"I told him he was dreaming," answered the mate, with a leer. "Now don't bother me again."

"Are you sure you saw the name on that pocketbook?" asked Mr.

Weatherby of Nat when they were out on the main deck.

"Positive."

"Perhaps it was some other wallet."

"No, it's the same one. I can tell because there's a dark spot on one corner, where it got some oil on once, dad told me."

"But his name is not on it," remarked the pilot. "I had a good enough look at it to determine that."

"I can't account for it," went on Nat, more puzzled than ever. He knew he had seen the name, yet now, when he had another sight of the wallet, it had disappeared. And no wonder, for the mate had done his work well, and had so smoothed down the leather, where he had sc.r.a.ped off the letters, that it needed a close inspection to disclose it.

This close inspection Mr. b.u.mstead was determined neither Nat nor the pilot should make.

Though he said nothing to Nat about it, Mr. Weatherby had some suspicions concerning the mate. For a long time he had distrusted the man, but this was because of certain things that had occurred aboard the _Jessie Drew_. Now there was something else. Mr. Weatherby questioned Nat closely as to the incidents connected with Mr. Morton's death. When he had learned all he could he remained a few moments in deep thought. Then he said:

"Well, Nat, don't think any more about it. It is very possible you were mistaken about the pocketbook. That form of wallet is not uncommon, and of course there are lots of men with the same name your father had. Why the mate should have a pocketbook, with some other name on it than his own, I can't explain. But we'll let matters lie quietly for a while. If you see or hear anything more out of the ordinary, let me know."

"I will," promised Nat; and then he had to go to do some work in the captain's office.