Chapter 46

IN WHICH PHIL SAILS THE MARIAN ACROSS LAKE MICHIGAN.

"Where are you going now, Philip?" asked Miss Collingsby.

"I am obliged to chase Mr. Whippleton. I told you what he had been doing. He has swindled your father out of a large sum of money, and he has also robbed me of a valuable package, which was put in my care for safe keeping. I must catch him if I follow him all night."

"You are very faithful to my father's interests. I didn't think Mr. Whippleton was such a bad man."

"Your father did not think so, either," I continued; and I explained to her in full the financial operations of the junior partner.

"Do you expect to catch him, Philip?"

"I mean to do so."

"What can you do with him? He is a man, and you are but a boy--excuse me, a young man."

"I don't object to being called a boy, for I am one; but I think I am a match for Mr. Whippleton, physically."

"I think you are, after your battle with Mr. Waterford, who is larger than Mr. Whippleton. But what am I to do?"

"I don't know. I must not lose sight of the Florina."

"I don't want to stay all night in this boat," said she, timidly.

"If I run over to the city and land you, I may as well give up all thought of ever seeing Mr. Whippleton again," I replied, annoyed at the situation.

"My mother will be very anxious about me."

"I know she will; but what can I do?"

"I really don't know."

"If Mr. Whippleton leads me any where near a railroad station, I will see that you are put in the way of returning to your home. I am sure if your father was here, he would insist upon my chasing the villain. If he escapes me, your father will lose a large sum of money--not less than forty thousand dollars, and perhaps more."

"How terrible! You must do as you think best, Philip, without regard to me. I don't like to stay in this boat all night."

"It isn't a bad place to stay," I replied, glancing down into the handsome and comfortable cabin.

"Perhaps not; but I had rather be at home. My father and mother will both worry about me."

"They will ascertain before night where you are; and perhaps Mr. Waterford will return to the city and inform them that you are safe."

"He will not be likely to say anything about me."

"Your father sent me to follow Mr. Whippleton, and I am now literally obeying his orders."

I saw that my fair companion was uneasy in a direction she did not care to explain; and I am sure I respected her all the more for the delicacy of feeling she exhibited. If she and her mother objected to her being alone in the yacht with Mr. Waterford, they might also object to me. I deemed it necessary to say and do all I could to assure her of her own safety.

"Can you steer a boat, Miss Collingsby?" I asked.

"I have steered this boat," she replied.

"Would you like to take the tiller for a while?"

"I can't steer unless some one tells me which way to go."

"You can follow the Florina--can you not?"

"Why do you ask, Philip?"

"I wish to secure the anchor, and put the cook-room and cabin in order. If it should come on to blow, all our dishes would be smashed."

"I will try to steer."

I gave her the helm, and told her to keep the foremast in range with the Florina. The tiller was long, so that it was not very hard to steer, though we were going before the wind. I soon found that she understood the business very well. I told her how to keep the boat steady, and in a short time she was able to do it to her own and to my satisfaction. I had on some good clothes, and I did not care to injure them at the dirty work of cleaning and stowing the anchor. I went below and drew on a pair of old overalls I found in the cook-room, which I had used while getting dinner. In the cabin I took a coat and an old hat, belonging to the owner of the Marian, from a locker, and these completed my outfit. Thus rigged I went on deck again.

"Dear me! How you startled me!" exclaimed Marian, as I stepped into the standing-room.

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I thought it was Mr. Waterford. You looked just like him when you came up those stairs. You have on the clothes he wore the last time I sailed with him."

"He is larger than I am."

"I know he is; but that hat and coat made you look just like him when you were coming up. No matter; I know you are not Mr. Waterford, and I am thankful you are not."

"So am I. If I were Mr. Waterford, I would sell out, and be somebody else the first thing I did," I replied, as I went forward.

I washed off the anchor, and the end of the cable, and stowed them in their proper places. I cleaned off the deck, and was only satisfied when I had everything neat enough to take dinner upon. I was sure the fair helms-lady could steer better now that this mud and confusion were removed, for they lay in her line of vision as she sighted the Florina. I then went below, cleared off the table, washed the dishes, and put them in the lockers, swept out the cabin and cook-room, and put everything in good order. The interior of the yacht was a model of comfort and elegance, and it was unpleasant to see anything out of place there.

As it was probable that Miss Collingsby would be compelled to sleep on board, I satisfied myself that everything in and about the berths was in good order. I took a pair of rifles from one of them, where Mr. Waterford kept them for his hunting trips, and set them up near the companion-way. While I was about it, I explored the cabin in order to ascertain its resources. I found almost everything there which could make the voyagers on the lake happy and comfortable. There was plenty of whiskey and wine, as well as other liquors, which could possibly make the owner happy; but they had no allurements to me.

Having finished my examination, I went on deck, and relieved Marian at the helm, though she declared that she was not tired. I thought it best for her to save her strength, for I did not know what she might be called upon to endure before we returned to Chicago.

"I have put the cabin in order for you, Miss Collingsby," said I, as I seated myself.

"For me? I am very grateful to you, but I don't think I shall have any use for it."

"We may have to sail all night."

"If we do, I will stay here with you. I could not sleep in such a place as that."

"I think it is a very nice place."

"So do I; and under other circumstances I should be very happy there. Do you suppose Julia or Florina Lord is with Mr. Whippleton?"

"I am satisfied that neither of them is with him."

"Mr. Waterford said they were; but that was a part of his deception."

"He does not scruple to lie."

"If Julia were only here, I should be satisfied," added she, looking out upon the lake.

"I am sorry she is not; but you may be satisfied as it is. You shall have the cabin all to yourself."

"I'm not afraid of anything," said she, with some confusion on her pretty face.

"You ought not to be afraid of your own cousin."

"My own what?" asked she, with a smile.

"Of your own cousin."

"Where is he?"

"I am he."

"You, Philip," laughed she.

"Perhaps you think I am joking; but I am not."

"You really don't mean to say that you are my cousin."

"I do really mean to say it, and I know it is true."

"How can that be?"

"It so happens that my mother and your father are brother and sister; and I believe the relationship of cousin is usually established in some such way."

"Doubtless you are quite right, Mr. Philip; but my father has but one sister, and she does not happen to have any children. Therefore I cannot possibly have any such cousin as you mention," said she, smiling at what she deemed her overwhelming argument; and perhaps she thought I was getting up a conspiracy against her.

"Your conclusion would be entirely just if the premises were correct. Your father's sister had one child."

"Had, but has not now. Her little son was lost on the Missouri River."

"Supposed to be lost, but not lost," I replied, warmly. "I am that son."

"Do you really mean so, Philip?" she inquired, looking at me earnestly, as if to fathom the trick I was playing upon her.

"I do most certainly."

"What is your other name?"

"Farringford."

"That was certainly the name of my aunt's husband; but it is impossible to believe so strange a story."

"I am afraid your father and your grandfather would refuse to believe what I say. Now, while we are chasing Mr. Whippleton, I will tell you the whole story."

I did tell it, and I had an attentive auditor; but when I had finished it, I was taken aback by her declaring that I had been reading dime novels, and had stolen the plot of one of them. But she said it so prettily and so good-naturedly, that I forgave her on the instant, though she did not sue for pardon.

"But I have heard that your father--" she began.

"Was a drunkard and a spendthrift," I added, completing the sentence for her. "He was, but is not now. He is a sober, honest, prudent, and Christian man."

"I am glad to hear that, for I was forbidden years ago even to mention his name," added Marian. "I don't think my father or grandfather will believe this story."

"They will have to believe it, if evidence will convince them," I replied, stoutly.

"But what does my aunt say?"

"My mother has not yet heard the story. My father wrote to my grandfather several times, but he took no notice of the letters."

"Aunt Louise has been in Europe several years."

"I have never seen my mother since I was a child; I do not remember her. Do you know where she is?"

"She was in Italy last winter; but I don't know where she is now."

"Will you ascertain for me?" I asked, with more interest than I cared to manifest.

"I will."

"I have her portrait in St. Louis. It was in a locket attached to a coral chain which I wore when I was saved from the river. I will show it to you some time."

"If it is really her portrait, I shall believe the story, whether anybody else does or not."

"My father says it is her portrait, and he ought to know. He is sure I am the lost son."

"You are so honest and brave, Philip, that I can't help believing you. I hope you are my cousin, at any rate, for I shall be proud of the relationship."

"Thank you, Marian--may I call you so?"

"Certainly you may, if you are my cousin."

"You are very kind."

"Indeed, you have already placed me under a debt of obligation to you which I can never repay."

"I am more glad to serve you than you can be to be served. Steady!"

"What's the matter?"

"The Florina has hauled her wind," I replied, watching the chase.

"What does that mean?"

"She has turned her head more to the north."

I hauled in the main sheet, and stood after the other yacht. It was sundown now, and we were within two or three miles of the Michigan shore. Half an hour later the Florina ran in at the mouth of a river. When we reached the opening, we found she had anchored half a mile up the stream. I did not deem it prudent to follow her, and I dropped the Marian's anchor at once.