Haste and Waste Part 2

"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

Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had become the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.

Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a larger scale than ever had been known at Woodville. He had been remarkably fortunate in his financial operations, and was already a wealthy man.

Though he did not retire from active business, he had taken a partner, which enabled him to spend a part of his time during the summer at his country house on the lake.

Mr. Grant had gone to Europe a second time, to be absent during the summer, and Miss f.a.n.n.y and f.a.n.n.y Jane had accepted Bertha's invitation to spend a few weeks at Port Rock. A splendid time had been promised them by Mrs. Sherwood, who had made extensive preparations for their visit. The arrangements included a novelty which offered a very brilliant prospect to the party, and excited the imagination even of the older ones to the highest pitch.

This novelty was nothing less than a miniature steamboat, which had already been christened the _Woodville_, in honor of the home of the owner's lady. She was a splendid little craft, and as perfect in her machinery and appointments as any steamer that ever floated. She was a side-wheel boat, sixty feet in length, by twelve feet beam.

Forward there were a regular wheel-house, a small kitchen, and other rooms usually found in a steamer. Abaft the wheels there were a saloon and two staterooms. Of course all these apartments, as well as the cabin below, were very contracted in their dimensions; but they were fitted up in the most elegant style.

The _Woodville_ had cost a great deal of money; but her owner expected to realize a full return for it in the enjoyment she would afford him, his wife, and their friends. She had been sent up the Hudson, and through the ca.n.a.l to Whitehall, and thence to Port Henry, where she had arrived on the day before Lawry Wilford's return to Port Rock.

On board of the little steamer there is an old friend of our readers. He may be found in the engine-room; and as he rubs up the polished iron of the machinery, he is thinking of f.a.n.n.y Jane Grant, with whom he escaped from the Indians in Minnesota, and whom he expects on board with Mr. Sherwood's party. The young man, now sixteen years of age, is the engineer of the _Woodville_. Though he has been but two years learning the trade of machinist, he is as thoroughly acquainted with every part of a marine-engine as though he had spent his lifetime in studying it.

The engine of the _Woodville_ was built at the works where Ethan French was learning his trade, and he had been employed in its construction. As he was a frequent visitor at Woodville, he had pet.i.tioned for the situation he now held. At first, Mr. Sherwood was not willing to trust him; but Ethan's employers declared that he was a man in everything but years, and was fully competent to manage the engine, and even to build one after the designs were made. He had come up from New York in the steamer. He had seen Mr. Sherwood at Port Henry, on his arrival, and had been ordered to have the boat in readiness to start on the following morning, when the family would be pa.s.sengers.