CHAPTER XIV.

“THE OCCURRENCES OF YESTERDAY.”

The next morning, at eight o’clock, my father and I crossed the lake to perform our daily duties on board of the steamer, which arrived from Hitaca at half past eight. I could not help thinking of the stirring events of the previous day, and I was anxious to learn whether the colonel had suffered any serious injury in consequence of his bath, and more especially in consequence of the inordinate quantity of brandy he had drank. While I was waiting for the arrival of the Ucayga, Waddie came down the wharf, and, as he walked with a brisk step directly towards me, I had no doubt his mission there was with me.

“How are you this morning, Wolf?” said he.

“All right. How is it with you, after the disaster of yesterday?” I inquired.

“I’m all right, except my shoulder, which don’t feel quite so well to-day. My mother thinks I took a little cold in it.”

“How is your sister? I hope she don’t suffer any on account of her bath.”

“O, no! She is as bright as a dollar this morning. By the great horn spoon, it was a close shave she made of it! Tom Walton may say what he pleases, but I believe, if Tommy Toppleton hadn’t swam after her, she would have been drowned, for she says she was sinking when he got hold of her.”

“You must have a safer boat, Waddie, if your sister is going to sail with you,” I added. “I didn’t quite like the looks of the craft the other day, when I saw her.”

“The Raven is safe enough. She may be a little crank, but she can outsail anything on the lake. It wasn’t her fault that she upset yesterday. Any boat would have gone over treated as she was;” and he proceeded to explain the circumstances implicating Nick Van Wolter, which have already been stated.

“Now, what was the matter with my father yesterday, Wolf?” asked Waddie; but he looked so good-natured about it that I was sure he did not suspect the mortifying truth. “You went up to Grass Springs with him, in search of our party.”

“I did. Your father suspected that you and Grace, and Tommy and Miss Wimpleton, were becoming too well acquainted.”

“Grace and I!” laughed Waddie, opening his eyes. “You can tell him from me that there isn’t a particle of truth in that.”

His earnest declaration removed the last doubt that disturbed me.

“I don’t know where he obtained his information, if he did obtain any, but he was very much incensed against you.”

“Perhaps there will be a regular breeze one of these days, for I think myself that Tommy and Minnie like each other pretty well,” added Waddie, lightly. “That’s their business, not mine. Of course, I don’t mean to say that anything will come of it; but I shouldn’t be surprised if it did amount to something.”

“Have you seen your father this morning?” I inquired, with more interest than I was willing to manifest.

“No; he had not got up when I left the house. I expect he will talk to me very seriously about yesterday; but I shall only answer for myself.”

“There is not much to say,” I replied.

“When he gets at the fact, as I understand it, I’m afraid poor Minnie will have to take it; but we won’t borrow any trouble. I must go to school now. Of course you won’t tell him what I say about Tom and Minnie.”

“Certainly not.”

He left me. I wanted to ask him several questions in relation to his father; but I was fearful of exposing the colonel, or awakening the curiosity of the son. It was plain enough that he had no idea of what a debauch his father had been on the day before. Those who had heard of the great man’s narrow escape on the railroad were considerate enough not to mention it in Waddie’s presence. I had not time to call upon the colonel, even if it had been proper for me to do so, at this early hour in the morning. The Ucayga was coming in sight from behind the Gulfport Point.

“Captain Penniman, Colonel Wimpleton told me to deliver this note to you before you left,” said the magnate’s man servant, handing me the epistle.

I took it, and saw that it was directed in the well-known handwriting of the colonel. He seldom wrote notes to me, and this one, after the events which had transpired the day before, excited my curiosity and interest. I tore open the envelope, and, as I read its contents, my heart rose into my throat. Before I had finished it, I made up my mind that if I had ever supposed I understood the character of Colonel Wimpleton, I was entirely mistaken. The letter was as follows:--

“WOLF PENNIMAN: After the occurrences of yesterday, I can no longer retain you in my employ as the master of the steamboat. It is not necessary to explain any further than to say that I feel compelled to discharge you from your place. You need not trouble yourself to call upon me, for I shall not see you; and henceforward you will regard me as a stranger, as I shall regard you.

“Your father may still retain his place as engineer. He is a faithful man, and I hope he will remain where he is.

“If you have that high sense of honor for which people give you credit, you will still regard what passed between us yesterday as confidential, especially after the consideration I gave you, and which, I will add, shall not be dishonored.

WIMPLETON.”

I will not say I was stunned or overwhelmed by the contents of this letter; but I was astounded. It was incomprehensible to me. I could not understand it. I had left the colonel just before midnight, and we were then apparently on as good terms as ever. He had expressed no dissatisfaction at anything I had done. I read the note a second and a third time; but it still afforded me no intimation of what wicked thing I had done to deserve such harsh treatment.

“What have you there, Wolf?” asked my father, who stood near me.

“A letter from Colonel Wimpleton,” I replied, handing it to him.

He read it, and was more astounded even than I had been. I had been regarded as a necessity to the magnate of Centreport; but now I was discharged without a word of explanation, with the assurance beforehand that he would not even see me.

“Why, what does this mean, Wolf?” demanded my father; and I think I never saw him look more anxious and disturbed in my life.

“You know as much about it as I do, father,” I replied.

“No, I don’t. I can’t tell what he means by the occurrences of yesterday.”

“They had nothing whatever to do with the steamer.”

“Wolf, there is some terrible secret under this.”

“Indeed there is not, father,” I protested. “I have done nothing which I should be ashamed to have published in the newspapers.”

“I don’t say that you have,” answered my father, as the Ucayga came up to the wharf, and made fast. “I must know more about this.”

“There are certain occurrences which I cannot mention to any one; but I think of nothing to explain this note. When I left Colonel Wimpleton’s house, at nearly midnight, we were as good friends as ever. I have no idea why I am discharged.”

“I’m not satisfied, Wolf.”

“Neither am I; but the colonel informs me that he will give no explanation, and I suppose I may as well make the best of it.”

“I want to talk with you. Can’t you go down to Ucayga in the boat?”

“I have no objection, if the colonel has not.”

I saw the same servant who had delivered the note to me hasten on board the Ucayga as soon as the plank was laid down. He had a letter in his hand, which I saw him give to Van Wolter. As soon as the passengers landed I went on board of the boat. The first person I met was the mate.

“What’s going on, Captain Penniman?” said he, in high excitement.

“I only know that I am dismissed,” I answered.

“Read that,” he added, handing me his letter.

It simply informed him that he was appointed captain of the steamer, at the same salary I had received, and that he would enter upon the discharge of his duties immediately.

“What’s the trouble, Captain Penniman?” asked he, as I returned the letter.

“I haven’t the least idea, Captain Van Wolter,” I replied; and by this time I had fully recovered my self-possession.

“This is all new to me. I never asked to be appointed captain of this boat, and never expected the place,” he continued.

“I am satisfied you did not. I congratulate you upon your promotion, with all my heart; and I hope you will retain the place longer than I did.”

“I thank you, captain; but I don’t feel just right about it,” said he; and really he did not seem to be half so much elated at his good fortune as I should have been. “You have always been a good friend of mine, and I don’t exactly like to step into your boots in this manner.”

“Don’t be at all concerned about that. The colonel has his whims, and I suppose he can afford to have them, whoever suffers thereby. Take the place, and do your duty in the future, as you have in the past.”

“You are very kind, Captain Penniman. Of course I should like the place; but I don’t wish to have you shoved out of it. I am tempted to decline it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m not sure that I can take the boat through the Horse Shoe Channel. You know I never tried it. Yesterday afternoon I went around the South Shoe, and came within half a minute of losing the trains.”

“I will go down with you on this trip, and give you the bearings,” I replied.

“You are a Christian, Wolf, if there ever was one. It is time to be off, and we will talk over the matter on the way down.”

While he was starting the boat I went into the state-room,--no longer mine,--and seated myself to think over the mighty event of the hour. Why had the colonel discharged me? I had told him the plain truth in regard to his condition. I had spoken to him as directly as Nathan did to David when he said, “Thou art the man.” I had declared to him, in so many words, that he was drunk. Perhaps the remembrance of my plain speech was too humiliating when he was sober. It was possible that he thought I was assuming too much. As I recalled his words and his actions, his efforts to disguise his condition, and his ridiculous attempt to purchase my silence, I concluded that I had solved the problem.

No doubt the colonel was ashamed of himself, and he could not endure the reflection that any human being, and especially one whom he regarded as his dependant, had dared to tell him he was intoxicated. The note indicated wounded pride in its tone. I was willing to accept this explanation, for I could think of no other. The colonel was certainly considerate towards my father; and this favor, with the check, which he took pains to say would not be dishonored, was doubtless deemed sufficient to conciliate me, and keep me from exposing the secrets of the chamber at the hotel in Grass Springs. The note was mild in its terms; and perhaps the writer thought that, with ten thousand dollars in my pocket, I should not take a place on the railroad line.

While I was thinking of the matter, my father, who had asked Christy Holgate to take charge of the engine on his down trip, came into the room, and seated himself before me. He was very much agitated; and the fact that he had not been discharged did not close his eyes to the vast injustice which had been done to me. He wanted the matter settled at once, and he would not run the engine another day if I could not have fair play. I begged him to keep cool, and he began to question me very sharply in regard to the “occurrences of yesterday.”