Charlie Codman's Cruise. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ shipmate," said the latter, impatiently, "how long are you going to stand staring at me? It makes me feel bashful, not to speak of its not being over and above civil."

      "What do you want?" inquired Peter, his alarm a little increased by this speech, making, at the same time, a motion as if to close the door.

      "First and foremost, I should like to be invited in somewhere, where it isn't quite so public as at the street door. My business is of a private nature."

      "I don't know you," said the miser, uneasily.

      "Well, what's the odds if I know you?" was the careless reply. "Come, push ahead. Where do you live? Up stairs, or down stairs? I want to have a little private talk with you somewhere."

      The speaker was about to cross the threshold when Peter stepped in front, as if to intercept him, and said, hurriedly, "Don't come in to-night; to-morrow will do just as well."

      "By your leave," said the visitor, coolly, pushing his way in, in spite of the old man's feeble opposition. "I have already told you that I wanted to see you to-night. Didn't you hear me?"

      "Thieves!" the old man half ejaculated, but was checked by the other somewhat sternly.

      "No, old man, I am not a thief; but if you don't have done with your stupid charges, I may be tempted to verify your good opinion by trying my hand at a little robbery. Now lead the way to your den, wherever it is, if you know what is best for yourself."

      The outer door was already closed, and Peter felt that he was at the intruder's mercy. Nevertheless, there was something in this last speech, rough and imperative as it was, that gave him a little feeling of security, so far as he had been led to suspect any designs on his property on the part of his companion.

      Without venturing upon any further remonstrance, which, it was clear, would prove altogether useless, he shuffled up stairs, in obedience to the stranger's command, yet not without casting back over his shoulder a look of apprehension, as if he feared an attack from behind.

      His visitor, perceiving this, smiled, as if amused at old Peter's evident alarm.

      Arrived at the head of the stairs, Peter opened the door into the apartment appropriated to his own use.

      The stranger followed him in, and after a leisurely glance about the room, seated himself with some caution in a chair, which did not look very secure.

      Peter placed the flickering candle upon the mantel-piece, and seated himself.

      It was long, very long, since a visitor had wakened the echoes of the old house; very long since any human being, save Peter himself, had been seated in that room. The old man could not help feeling it to be a strange thing, so unaccustomed was he to the sight of any other human face there.

      "It seems to me," said his visitor, dryly, taking in at a glance all the appointments of the room, "that you don't care much about the luxuries of life."

      "I," said Peter, "I'm obliged to live very plain,—very plain, indeed,—because I am so poor."

      "Poor or not," said the visitor, "you must afford to have a better fire while I am here. I don't approve of freezing."

      He rose without ceremony, and taking half a dozen sticks from the hearth, deposited them in the stove, which now contained only some burning embers.

      "Stay," said Peter, hastily. "Don't put so much on; it's wasteful, and I sha'n't have any left for to-morrow."

      "I'll risk that," said the other, carelessly. "At any rate, it's better to be comfortable one day than to shiver through two."

      The flame caught the wood, which soon blazed up, diffusing an unusually cheerful glow over the apartment. Peter, in spite of the dismay with which he had at first contemplated the sudden movement on the part of his visitor, and the awful consumption of wood which he knew must ensue, nevertheless appeared to enjoy the increased heat. He drew his chair nearer the stove, and an expression of satisfaction was visible in his face as he spread out both hands to catch a little warmth.

      "There, Peter," said the stranger, "I knew you'd like it after it was fairly done. Isn't it worth while to have a good warm fire?"

      "If it didn't cost so much," groaned Peter, the one thought intruding.

      "Hush, Peter; if what people say be true, and as I am inclined to believe, there's no one better able to afford a good fire than you."

      "No one better able!" repeated Peter, at once taking alarm, and lifting up both hands in earnest deprecation, "when I can hardly get enough together to keep from absolute starvation. Oh, it's a strange world, it's a strange world!"

      "Well, Peter, some strange people do live in it, to be sure. But people do say, Peter, that you have a power of money hidden away in this old house somewhere."

      Peter started to his feet in affright, then feeling that his movement might lead to suspicion, sank back into his seat, saying, uneasily, "I only wish it were true. People say such strange things. But it's only idle talk, idle talk. They know better."

      "You'd be very grateful, I have no doubt, to anybody that would show you where all these treasures are that people talk about, wouldn't you, hey?"

      "Ye—Yes," answered Peter Manson, who did not know quite how to understand his companion, whose tone seemed to have a hidden meaning which made him uneasy.

      "And will you give me leave to search the house, if I will promise to give you half the gold I find?"

      "But you wouldn't find any," answered the miser, hastily.

      "Then there would be no harm done. Suppose now I should remove the flooring, just here for instance, don't you think I might possibly find something underneath that would repay me for my search?"

      Unconsciously the speaker had hit upon one of Peter's places of deposit. Directly under where he was seated there was a box of gold coins. Accordingly this remark, which seemed to indicate to Peter some knowledge of his hiding-place, filled him with fearful apprehensions.

      "No, no," said he, vehemently; "go away, there isn't any there. If that is all you have got to say, go away and leave me to my rest. I ought to be in bed; it is getting late."

      "I have something more to say, Peter Manson," returned his companion. "If I had not, I should not have sought you to-night. What I have to say is of great importance to you as you will find. Will you hear it?"

      "Go on," muttered Peter, his attention arrested, in spite of his fears, by the stranger's peculiar tone.

      "First, then, let me tell you a story. It may be real, it may be only fancy. I won't say anything about that. By the way, Peter, were you ever in the West Indies?"

      This question produced a singular effect upon Peter, considering its apparently unimportant character. He started, turned as pale as his ghastly complexion permitted, fixed an anxious glance upon the stranger, who looked as if nothing particular had happened, and said hastily, "No, I was never there. What made you ask?"

      "Nothing particular," said the other, carelessly; "if you were never there, no matter. Only it is there that what I am going to tell you happened. But to my story.

      "Some twenty years ago there lived in the city of Havana an American gentleman, no matter about his name, who had established himself in business in the city. He had married before he went there, and had a daughter СКАЧАТЬ