by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER VII.
AFTER MIDNIGHT.
Although it was after eleven o'clock, Captain Fishley and his wife werestill up, waiting for the arrival of the distinguished guest.
"Now, remember," said Squire Fishley, as I drove into the yard, and thecaptain came out at the back door.
"Don't be at all afraid of me," I replied.
"How are you, Moses?" exclaimed Captain Fishley, as, by the light of thelantern he carried in his hand, he saw that his brother had arrived.
"Pretty well, I thank you; but very wet and cold," answered the squire,shivering.
"Well, I am glad to see you," added the postmaster, as he took the handof the guest and helped him out of the wagon.
The squire was so chilled that he could hardly stand. So far as I couldjudge, he had entirely recovered from his debauch. The captain led theway into the house, and I followed them with the trunk and the mail-bag.Mrs. Fishley bestowed a cordial welcome upon her brother-in-law, andplaced the rocking-chair before the stove, in which there was still agood fire.
"Why, you are as wet as though you had been in the river!" cried Mrs.Fishley.
"It has been raining very hard," replied the squire, casting an anxiousglance at me.
"What made you so late?" asked the captain. "I expected you by nineo'clock."
"I had some friends with me who were on the way to New Orleans, and Iwaited to see them off," answered the senator, with a shudder--not atthe thought of his friends, perhaps, but on account of the chill whichpervaded his frame.
"You'll catch your death a cold, Moses," interposed Mrs. Fishley. "Ithink you'd better take something, to guard against the chills."
"Yes; I'll give you a glass of corn whiskey, mixed with hot water,"added the captain, taking up the suggestion.
"No, I think I won't take any," replied the squire, shaking his head.
"Hadn't you better?" persisted Mrs. Fishley. "It'll do you a heap ofgood."
"Not to-night, thank you!"
"I don't believe in drinkin' liquor when a body's well; but when they'rewet through, and shiverin' with cold as you are, Moses, it is good for'em--only as a medicine, you know."
But not even as a medicine could Squire Fishley be induced to partake ofany of the fire-water. He had drank corn whiskey enough for one day; andI think at that moment he loathed the thought of drinking it. Hecompromised the matter, being a politician, by offering to drink a dishof hot tea, which, I doubt not, was just as good for him as the "ardent"would have been.
I warmed my fingers a little at the stove, and then went out to takecare of Darky. I stirred my own blood by the exercise of rubbing himdown; and, when I left him, nicely blanketed, I think he was ascomfortable as the squire in the house, and I am sure his head did notache half so badly. My work for the night was done; but, before I wentinto the house, I could not help taking the present which the senatorhad given me from my pocket and examining it. I had suspected, from thefirst, that it was a bank bill. I thought that the squire had given me adollar or two to deepen the impression upon my memory, and I had alreadycome to the conclusion that he was a more liberal man than his brother;as, indeed, he could afford to be, for he was said to be quite wealthy.
I took the little roll from my pocket while up in the hay-loft, where Ihad gone to give Darky his last feed. It was wet, but the paper was newand strong, and had sustained no serious injury. I unrolled the bills,and was astonished to find there were not less than half a dozen ofthem. As they had apparently just come from the bank, they stucktogether very closely. The first bill was a one, the next a five; and bythis time I was amazed at the magnitude of the sum, for I had neverbefore had six dollars of my own in my hand.
I looked further, and was utterly overwhelmed when I found that each ofthe other four bills was a ten. Forty-six dollars! Squire Fishley hadcertainly made a mistake. He could not have intended to give me all thatmoney. Befuddled and befogged by the whiskey and the cold bath, he musthave forgotten that the roll contained forty-six dollars, instead of twoor three, which was probably all he intended to give me. I should havefelt rich with a couple of dollars; but actually possessed of the sum inmy hand, I should have been a John Jacob Astor in my own estimation.
The money was not mine. The squire had not intended to give me all that,and it would not be right for me to keep it. I could not help thinkingthat if I chose to keep the money, I might do so with impunity. I hadthe squire's secret, and he would not dare to insist upon my returningthe bills; but this would be mean, and I concluded that I should feelbetter with the two or three dollars fairly obtained than if I tookadvantage of the obvious blunder of the giver.
"What have you got there, Buck?"
I started as though a rifle ball had struck me. Turning, I saw HamFishley standing at the head of the stairs, and I wondered how he hadbeen able to come up the steps without my hearing him. I had beenintensely absorbed in the contemplation of the bills, and was lost toeverything around me. If I had heard any noise, I supposed it was Darky.I saw that Ham had taken off his boots, and put on a pair of oldrubbers, which explained why I had not heard his step on the stairs.
"What have you got there, Buck?" repeated he, as I did not answer thefirst question.
"I've got a little money," I replied.
"Where did you get it?"
"I didn't steal it?"
"Well, I didn't say you did. I only asked you a civil question."
"It's some money I made on my own account," I replied, as composedly asI could.
"Have you done with that lantern? I want it," he continued, eithersatisfied with my answer, or too wet and cold to pursue the inquiry anyfurther.
I gave him the lantern, and followed him down stairs, greatly annoyed bythe discovery he had made, for I could not help thinking that he hadbeen watching me, perhaps to obtain another opportunity of settling theold score. I closed the stable door, and went into the house. Thefamily, including the squire, had gone to bed. Ham, with the lantern inhis hand, passed through the entry into the shop. I lighted a lamp inthe kitchen, and went up to my room, which was in the L over the store.I took off my wet clothes, put on a dry shirt, and got into bed.
Though it was after midnight, I could not at once go to sleep. I couldnot help thinking of the stirring events of the evening, for neverbefore had so much happened to me in so brief a period. I was beginningto gape fearfully, and to lose myself, when the whinings of Bully at theside door disturbed me. My canine friend usually slept in the barn; buthe appeared to have been out late, like the rest of us, and had beenlocked out. He was a knowing dog, and the light in the store hadprobably assured him that some one was up, or he would not have had theimpudence to apply for admission at that unseemly hour.
I had just become comfortably warm in bed, and did not like the idea ofgetting up, even for the accommodation of Bully, though I was willing todo so rather than oblige the poor fellow to stay out in the cold allnight. I waited a while to see if Ham would not have the grace to admitmy friend; but the whining continued, and reluctantly I jumped out ofbed. Putting on my socks and pants, I crept down stairs, so as not todisturb the squire, who occupied the front chamber.
In the lower entry, I found that the door which led to the shop waspartly open; and I looked in as I went along, for I wondered what Hamwas about at that late hour. He was sorting the mail, which I hadbrought up from Riverport, and I concluded that he intended to lie abedlate in the morning. I paused a moment at the door, and soon becamesatisfied that he was doing something more than sorting the mail. He wasnot ten feet from me, and I could distinctly observe his operations.
I should not have staid an instant after I found what he was doing ifhis movements had not excited my attention. He had lighted the largehanging lamp over the counter where the mail was sorted; and, as I wasabout to pass on to the relief of Bully, I saw him hold a letter up tothe light, as if to ascertain its contents. I could not entirely makeout the direction upon it; but, as he held it up to the lamp, peering inat the end, I
saw that the capital letter commencing the last name wasan L. I concluded that this must be the letter for which Miss Larrabeehad inquired, and which she had declared was to contain forty dollars.
Ham glanced around the store; but, as I was in the darkness of theentry, and concealed by the door, he did not see me. He was nervous andshaky in his movements. He held the letter up to the light again, andhaving apparently satisfied himself that it contained a valuableenclosure, he broke it open. I confess that I was filled with horror,and, of the two, I was probably more frightened than he was. I saw himtake several bank bills from the paper and thrust them into his pocket.I had never considered Ham capable of an act so wicked as this. I wasshocked and confounded. I did not know what to do. Badly as he hadtreated me, I would gladly have saved him from such a gross crime asthat he was committing.
What should I do? What could I do? I was on the point of rushing intothe store, telling him I had seen the flagrant act, and begging him toundo the deed by restoring the money to the letter, and sealing itagain. At that instant he lighted a match, and set the letter on fire. Iwas too late. He took the burning paper in his hand, carried it to thestove, and threw it in. He waited a moment till it was consumed, andthen returned to the mail counter. The envelope still lay there; hecarried that to the stove, and saw it ignited from the burning letter.
HAM FISHLEY'S CRIME--Page 86.]
Ham's nefarious work appeared to be finished; and, without being able todecide what I should do, I hurried back to my chamber, even forgettingall about poor Bully in my agitation. I heard the step of Ham a momentlater. The whining of the dog attracted his attention, and he let him inbefore he went to his room. My heart beat as though I had robbed themail myself. I trembled for Ham. Though he had always been overbearingand tyrannical in his demeanor towards me; though he had taken a meanand cowardly advantage of me that evening; though he was a young manwhom I could not like,--yet I had lived in the same house with himfor several years, and known him ever since I came to Torrentville. Idid not wish anything so bad to come upon him as that he was bringingupon himself. It was sad and pitiful enough to be mean and tyrannical,without being a thief and a robber.
I really pitied Ham, and if he had not destroyed the letter, I shouldhave gone to him, and begged him to retrace his steps. I knew him toowell to take such a course now, and I lay thinking of his crime, till,overcome with weariness, I went to sleep.