CHAPTER XIII.

AFTER THE ACCIDENT.

My skiff was nearly full of water, which rendered it quite unmanageable. In my attempt to save Colonel Wimpleton before he went into the water, I had lost both oars overboard. There was no romance in leaping into the lake after a tipsy man, and there were two chances that he would drown me to one that I should save him. I did not consider such a movement on my part as hopeful, and therefore I did not make it. I simply endeavored to recover my oars, and back the boat so that the struggling magnate could get hold of it.

The colonel floundered and fought the destroying element with mad zeal; but of course the more he labored the worse it was for him. It was evident that he could not hold out long, and what was done must be quickly done, or it would be too late. One of my oars floated on the water not six feet from me, but I could not move the boat, for the want of anything like a paddle. I coiled up the painter, and threw it so that the end dropped beyond the oar. I pulled in, but the line slipped over it. I then tied a heavy bunch of keys I had in my pocket to the end of the painter, and tried again. This effort was successful, and I hauled in the oar till I could reach it with my hand.

I placed it in the stern, heaved the skiff round, and sculled with all my might towards the drowning magnate; but the boat rolled, and dipped the water over her gunwale, so that I made little or no progress. My heart was in my mouth, and I was almost certain the colonel would drown, when Nick Van Wolter’s boat dashed by me. The helm was put hard down, and, as the craft came up into the wind, Nick sprang into the bow. He certainly managed the matter exceedingly well, whatever bungling he had done earlier in the day. Reaching down, he seized the drowning magnate by the collar of his coat with both hands, and held on with all his might.

If Colonel Wimpleton had been sober, he would not have fallen into the water; but if he had fallen overboard being sober, and had remained in the water so long, he would certainly have been drowned, for drunken men seem to have a remarkable facility for escaping from perils which overwhelm men in their right mind. Nick held on to his helpless burden like a good fellow, and I struggled to urge forward my water-logged boat, so as to render him some assistance. The skiff and the oars had drifted some distance from the spot, and my efforts were absolutely vain.

“Hurry up, Wolf!” shouted Nick, with a gasp, extorted from him by the weight of his burden.

“My skiff is full of water, and I can’t do anything with it,” I replied.

Taking the oar from the stern, I tried to paddle the skiff. I succeeded better, but my progress was very slow. I saw Nick make a tremendous effort to haul in the colonel. He stood upon the gunwale of the boat, and as he lifted with all his strength, the craft careened, and he dragged the shoulders of his burden up to the rail. Falling back himself as he gained in his task, the boat righted a little, and assisted in lifting the heavy load. After pausing a moment to recover his breath, he renewed the effort, and, to my great satisfaction, he hauled the colonel into the boat, just as I came within a painter’s length of him.

“Catch this rope, Nick,” I called to him, as I coiled up my painter, ready to toss it to him.

But Nick had sunk down upon the thwart, overcome by the violence of his efforts. So I paddled away again with the oar, and at last came alongside the sail-boat. I jumped aboard, and hastened to ascertain the condition of the colonel. It seemed to me he must be filled with water; but perhaps the natural repulsion of the pure element for the viler one with which he was thoroughly saturated, saved him. Of course the severe ordeal to which he had been subjected nullified the effects of the brandy he had drank. Nick had placed him upon a seat, but he was unable to sit up. He had not lost his senses, strange as it may seem; but he was completely exhausted by the violence of his struggles.

“How do you feel, Colonel Wimpleton?” I asked.

He made me no reply, though he looked up at me. I took my handkerchief, wiped his face and head, and rubbed his temples. He began to shiver with the chill of his cold bath, and to throw up the water he had swallowed. He was rather stupid, and did not answer any of the questions I put to him. By this time Nick had recovered in a measure from his exhaustion, and wanted to do something more for the comfort of the great man he had saved.

“What shall we do, Wolf?” asked he.

“Run for Grass Springs,” I replied.

He hauled in the sheet, and put the helm up, heading the boat to the point I suggested.

“That was a narrow escape for the colonel,” added Nick, in a low tone, as he glanced at the sufferer on the seat.

“Yes, it was. You came just at the right time. My skiff was full of water, and I could not get along. I lost my oars when the colonel went over.”

“How did it happen?”

I shook my head slightly, to indicate that we had better not discuss this matter in the presence of the colonel. Seeing that the skiff, whose painter I had made fast to the sail-boat, retarded her progress, I cast it off, and let it go adrift. There was a fair breeze, and the craft made good time through the water; but nearly half an hour must elapse before we could reach Grass Springs, which was about two miles distant. I placed myself by the side of the colonel, and began to rub him again; but a gesture of impatience indicated that he disliked the operation, and I desisted. But I had the satisfaction of seeing that he was steadily improving. He had a fit of coughing, during which he relieved himself of much of the water he had swallowed during his struggles.

“How do you feel, colonel?” I inquired, when he had recovered from the fit.

“A little better,” he replied, raising his hand to his breast pocket.

He took out his brandy flask, and attempted to remove the stopple; but his trembling hands refused to perform the task.

“Let me open it for you,” I interposed.

If brandy is ever good for anything, it is for a person in his condition. At first he was not disposed to let me take the flask.

“I think you need a little now. It will do you good,” I added.

Then he permitted me to take the bottle, and I unscrewed the top. Pouring a quantity of it into the cup, which formed the lower part of the flask, I offered it to him. He looked into it, and held it out to me.

“Put more in,” said he.

I obeyed him, and filled the cup nearly full.

“Will you have some water with it?” I inquired.

“No;” and he drank it off, or rather poured it down his throat.

I have no doubt it warmed his stomach, and afforded him immediate relief from the intense chill which pervaded his frame. At any rate, he ceased to shiver. Before we reached the shore, he took another, but smaller dose, and then declared that he was quite comfortable.

By this time the Belle was off Ruoara, and I concluded that those on board of her were in happy ignorance of the alarming event which had just transpired. When I had first seen her, she was beating towards home, and at the time of the accident she had run behind the southern point of the Horse Shoe. It was very fortunate that we had not been seen, for Waddie and his sister were again spared the pain and mortification of beholding their father in the most pitiable condition to which a man can be reduced.

As soon as we landed I procured a carriage, and we conveyed the colonel to the hotel. The landlord provided dry clothing for him, and we rubbed his limbs with flannel till the circulation was restored. He continued to drink brandy, but it did not seem to have so powerful an effect upon him as before his involuntary bath. Though he did not say anything about the exciting event of the day, I have no doubt he kept up a tremendous thinking. In the evening, after his clothes had been dried, and he had eaten his supper, he said he wanted to go home. He consented, at Nick’s suggestion, to go to Ruoara in the boat in which the latter had come from that place, and we embarked just after dark. We borrowed a heavy overcoat for him, and he kept warm on the passage, which, in the fresh breeze we had, was made in an hour and a quarter.

At Ruoara I procured a carriage and a pair of fast horses; but it was eleven o’clock when we reached the colonel’s mansion in Centreport. He invited us to go in on our arrival, and led the way to the library. His family had all retired, for he was frequently away nights, and they had learned not to sit up for him.

“I suppose all this will be in the newspapers by to-morrow, or next day,” said the colonel, as he seated himself before the fire he had ordered John, his man, to make.

“No, sir, not at all!” protested Nick. “We didn’t even tell the landlord over to the hotel at Grass Springs what had happened to you--did we, Wolf?”

“We did not. I am not aware that any one except ourselves knows anything about it,” I replied.

“And no one ever shall,” added Nick, looking at me, and evidently speaking for both of us.

“Certainly not,” I answered. “If there is nothing more that I can do for you to-night, Colonel Wimpleton, I believe I will go home.”

“You can sleep here, Wolf,” suggested the colonel.

“I thank you, sir; but I think I will go home,” I replied; and, bidding him good night, I left the house.

I had a skiff at the wharf, in which I pulled across the lake. It was after midnight when I reached my father’s house. My mother let me in, and of course she wanted to know where I had been. I simply replied that I had been to Grass Springs with Colonel Wimpleton, evading all her inquiries in regard to the object of the visit. I went to my room immediately. When I put my hand in my vest pocket for the key of my watch, which it was my custom to wind on retiring, I felt the duplicate check which my employer had given me. I took it out, and unfolded it. The paper was written in due form, and I had no doubt it was good for the ten thousand dollars for which it was drawn.

The check had been given me by an intoxicated man. It was not possible that he would have done so absurd a thing if he had been sober. Certainly it was not morally right for me to take advantage of his great infirmity. Though the donor could give me this large sum, and not feel the loss, yet it seemed to be nothing less than robbery to use the check. It would be base and dishonorable in me to hold him to a promise given in his inebriation. I might lose the check if I kept it, and another might find it who had less scruples. If I left it at home, my father and mother might discover it, and desire an explanation, which I could not give.

Rather impulsively, I folded up the check, lighted it at the lamp, and threw it into the fireplace. I watched the paper till it was entirely consumed, and then scattered and ground up with my foot the tinder which was left. Having thus prevented the check from doing any mischief in the future, I went to bed.