"All right," said the dealer, shaking his head, with a kind of smile, which seemed to indicate that he thought the young fisherman was beside himself to ask such a price, after apparently glutting the market the day before. "That will do for once, Le; but they won"t bring ten cents at retail, after all I sold yesterday. I should have to salt them down."
"Very well," added Leopold; "that"s my price; and I don"t know of any law that compels you to give it, if you don"t want to, Mr. Bangs."
The dealer began to edge his way through the crowd towards the fish market, and the idlers hastened to the conclusion that there would be no trade.
"What do you ask apiece for two or three of them?" asked some one on the wharf.
"Twenty cents," answered Leopold. "But I don"t care to sell them at retail."
"I will take three, if you will let me have them," added the inquirer.
This conversation startled the head of the fish firm, and he returned once more to the cap-sill of the wharf. He saw that if the young man attempted to sell out his fare at retail, the business of the market would be ruined for that day.
"I will give you eight cents apiece for all you have," said Bangs.
"You can"t buy them at that price. If you don"t want them at ten cents apiece, I shall take them over to Rockland," replied Leopold, who did not wish to offend the members of the fish firm, for they had often bought out his fare, and he wished to keep on the right side of them for operations in the future.
Mr. Bangs considered, parleyed, and then offered nine cents; but finally, when Leopold was found to be inflexible, he yielded the point, and agreed to pay the ten cents. The mackerel were unloaded and conveyed to the market, when the sale of them at retail commenced immediately.
The fish were so large and handsome that twenty cents did not appear to be a very extravagant price for them, considering the scarcity of the article in the market. In the settlement, Leopold received forty-six dollars; Stumpy"s share, according to a standing agreement, was one quarter of the proceeds of the sale; and the eleven dollars and a half which he put into his wallet was quite as satisfactory to him as the thirty-four dollars and a half was to Leopold. Both of them felt that they had been favored by fortune to an extraordinary degree, and they were very happy. The old boat was sailed back to her usual moorings. The tinkers were equally divided between the young fishermen, and they went home.
By eleven o"clock Stumpy had poured into the lap of his astonished mother the proceeds of his morning"s work, and Leopold had informed his father of the second big haul he had made that season. As before, Mr.
Bennington--but with some additional cautions--told his son to keep the money he had made.
"The sick man is in a peck of trouble this morning," added the landlord of the Cliff House, when the exciting business of the occasion had been disposed of.
"What"s the matter of him?" asked Leopold.
"He has lost his book, his record, or whatever it is," added Mr.
Bennington. "He has sent for everybody belonging in the house, including many of the boarders. He wants to see you."
"I"m sure I don"t know anything about it," replied Leopold, who, judging by what the invalid had said about the book, realized that the loss of it must distress him very much.
"No one seems to know anything about it; and the sick man will have it that some one has stolen the book. I laughed at him, and told him no one would steal such a thing, for it was worth nothing to anybody but himself. But go up and see him, Leopold."
The young man hastened to the room of the sick man. Harvey Barth was certainly very miserable on account of the loss of his diary. He spoke of it as he would have done if it had been some dear friend who had been taken away from him by death; but then he was sick and rather childish, and the people about the hotel pitied and sympathized with him.
"Where did you put it?" asked Leopold, when he had heard all the particulars the steward could give in relation to his loss.
"There isn"t any cupboard in this room, and I hadn"t any good place to keep it; so I just tucked it into the flue of that fireplace," drawled Harvey, with the frequent hacking which impeded his utterance.
"That was a queer place to put it," added Leopold.
"I know it was; but I hadn"t any better one. I thought it would be safer there than in any other place."
"Are you sure that you put it there?"
"Am I sure that I am a living man at this moment?" demanded Harvey.
"That diary is worth more to me than all the rest I have in the world, and I shouldn"t forget what I did with it."
But Leopold searched the room in every nook and corner, in spite of the protest of the sick man that it was useless to do so, for he had looked everywhere a dozen times himself. The young man was no more successful than others had been who had looked for the diary.
"Though you value it very highly I suppose the diary is not really worth very much," suggested Leopold.
"There are secrets written out in that book which might be worth a great deal of money to a bad man," replied Harvey, in a confidential tone.
"Well, what do you suppose has become of it?"
"I"ll tell you. I think some one stole it," added the sick man impressively.
"Did any one know about the secrets written down in it?"
"Not that I know of. Some one may have taken it in order to get my account of the wreck of the Waldo. It may affect the insurance on the vessel, or something of that sort, for all I know. I think I know just who stole it too;" and Harvey related all the particulars of the tipsy man"s visit to the chamber the night before. "He pretended to be drunk, but I think he knew what he was about all the time, just as well as I did. In my opinion he took that book."
"Why should he take it?" asked Leopold, who thought it was necessary to prove the motive before the deed was charged upon him.
"I don"t know but I think he sat at the window of the room over there,"
continued Harvey, pointing to one in the L of the house, which opened at right angles with his own. "I believe he saw me put the diary in the flue, and then came into my room in the night and took it, while he was blundering about over the chairs and tables. I am sure that none of the folks who came in to see me in the afternoon could have taken it without my seeing them--not even the newspaper man. You may depend upon it, the tipsy man--if he was tipsy--took it. What he did it for is more than I can tell; but he may have thought it was money, or something else that was valuable. I saw him at that window after I had hid the diary in the flue."
Harvey Bath was entirely satisfied in regard to the guilt of the tipsy man, and had already ascertained that the fellow was a "drummer"--in Europe more politely called a "commercial traveller." He had also obtained the name of the man, and the address of the firm in New York city for which he travelled. With this information he hoped to obtain his treasure again, by shrewd management, when he went to New York. But, in spite of his grief over his loss, Harvey wrote the account of the wreck of the Waldo for the newspaper, in the course of the next day, and sent it off by mail.
After Leopold had done all he could to comfort the invalid,--though he failed, as others had, to lessen the burden which weighed him down,--he left the room, and walked down to the princ.i.p.al street of the village, on which the Cliff House was located. A few rods from the hotel he came to the smallest store in the place, in the window of which were displayed a few silver watches and a rather meagre a.s.sortment of cheap jewelry. On the shelves inside of the shop was a considerable variety of wooden clocks, and, in a gla.s.s case on the counter, a quant.i.ty of spoons, forks and dishes, some few of which were silver, while the greater part were plated, or of block tin. Over the door was the sign "LEOPOLD SCHLAGER, WATCH-MAKER." The proprietor of this establishment was Leopold"s uncle, his mother"s only brother, which explains the circ.u.mstance of our hero"s having a foreign name.
Of course, if Leopold Schlager was a German, Mrs. Bennington was of the same nationality, though any one meeting her about the hotel would hardly have suspected that she was not a full-blooded American. Over thirty years before, she had emigrated with her younger brother, when the times were hard in Germany. Her father was dead, and her elder brother, Leopold, was not yet out of his time, learning the trade of a watch-maker. The younger brother went to the west, taking her with him, and established himself on a farm. He was not very successful, and his sister, at the age of twelve, went to live with an American family in Chicago, the lady of which had taken a fancy to her. She was brought up to work, though her education was not neglected. Before she was twenty-one her brother in the west died. But by this time she was abundantly able to take care of herself.
When the family in which she was so kindly cared for was broken up by the death of the father, she went to work in the kitchen of a large hotel, where she enlarged her knowledge and experience in the art of cooking, till she was competent to take a situation as the cook of a small public house. In this place she increased the reputation of the establishment by her skill, till the proprietor was willing to pay her any wages she demanded.
Peter Bennington, a native of Maine, was employed in the hotel; and he was so well pleased with the looks of the German cook that he proposed to her, and was accepted. Katharina Schlager spoke English then as well as a native; and she was not only neat and skillful, but she was a pretty and wholesome-looking woman. Peter married her, and, after a while, bought out the hotel. But he was not successful in the venture; and, with only a few hundred dollars in his pocket, he returned to Rockhaven, his native place, where he soon opened the Cliff House.
Leopold was born in Chicago, and his mother had insisted upon naming him after her brother in Germany.
Mr. Bennington had done very well in the hotel; but he was ambitious to do business on a larger scale, and was revolving in his mind a plan to make the Cliff House into a large establishment, which would attract summer visitors in great numbers. He had bought the present hotel, and paid for it from his profits; and he hoped soon to be able to rebuild it on a larger scale.
His wife was faithful and devoted to him and the children. She had always done the cooking for the Cliff House, which had given it an excellent reputation. She was not only a good and true woman, but she was an exceedingly useful one to a hotel-keeper. For years she had tenderly thought of her absent brother in Germany. She often wrote to him, and learned that he was doing a good business in a small city.
After years of persuasion, she induced him to join her in America. He was met on the wharf in New York, when he landed, by Mr. Bennington and his wife, and conducted to Rockhaven without delay. He could not speak a word of English then; but for six months he devoted himself to the study of it under the tuition of his sister and her children, till he was competent to carry on his business in the town. He was a very skillful workman, and all the watches in Rockhaven and on the island came to him to be cleaned and repaired. Even the rich men of the place found that he could be safely trusted with their valuable gold time-keepers, and he became quite celebrated in his line. He sold a watch occasionally, and had a small trade in clocks and other wares, so that he really made more money than in his native land. He had brought with him a considerable capital, and was enabled to stock his store without any aid from his sister.
If Herr Schlager missed his "sauer kraut" and "bier," he enjoyed the company of his sister and her children. Leopold was his favorite, perhaps because he bore the watch-maker"s name. They were fast friends; and in the undertaking which Leopold was laboring to accomplish, he had made his uncle his confidant.
When the young man entered the store, he bestowed his first glance upon a small iron safe behind the counter, in which the watch-maker kept his watches, silver ware, and other valuables at night. Leopold was interested in that strong box, for the reason that it contained his own savings. For six months he had been h.o.a.rding up every penny he earned for a purpose, and he had placed his money in the hands of his uncle for safe keeping. Perhaps Herr Schlager"s iron safe was as much the occasion of his confidence in his uncle as the fact of their relationship.
Leopold"s present visit was made in order to dispose of the proceeds of his morning"s work, before he lost it or was tempted to spend any portion of it.
"Ah, mine poy! you have come mit more money. I see him in your head,"
said Herr Schlager, as, with a cheerful smile, he left his work-table.
"Yes uncle, I have more money," replied Leopold; and his success had covered his face with smiles. "_Ich habe viel geld diesen morgen._"
"_Sehr gut!_" laughed the watch-maker, who was delighted to hear his nephew use the little German he had taught him. "_Wie viel geld haben sie?"_
"_Mehr als vier-und-dreisig thaler_," replied Leopold, who had been preparing himself, during his walk from the hotel to the store, to speak what German he had thus far uttered.