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"Well, you are a restless sleeper, captain!" said this man: "I dropped in here just now, thinking to find Dennis Wayman, and I've been looking on while you finished your nap. I never saw a harder sleeper." "I had a bad dream," answered Jernam, starting to his feet. "A bad dream! What about, captain?" "About your daughter!"
After Milsom had devoured about a pound of steak, and at least two pounds of potatoes, Mr. Wayman ventured to interrupt his operations by a question. "If you didn't collar the money, what became of it?" he asked. "Put away," returned the other man, shortly; "and as safe as a church, unless my bad luck goes against me harder than it ever went yet." "You hid it?" said Wayman, interrogatively.
So, you see, it was no fault of mine that you didn't get the money." "Humph!" muttered Mr. Wayman. "It has been rather hard lines for me to be kept out of it so long. And now you have come back, I suppose you can take me at once to the hiding place. I want money very badly just now." "Do you?" said Thomas Milsom, with a sneer.
Wayman called his trap; and as they drove along the lonely road, across the marshy flat by the river, Dennis Wayman told his companion what had happened in his absence. "For a year the house stood empty," he said; "but at the end of that time an old sea-captain took a fancy to it because of the water about it, and the view of the Pool from the top windows.
Louis she made her home with the family of Wayman Crow, Esq., whose daughter had been her companion at Lenox. This gentleman proved himself a constant and encouraging friend, ordering her first statue from Rome, and helping in a thousand ways a girl who had chosen for herself an unusual work in life. After completing her studies she made a trip to New Orleans, and then North to the Falls of St.
"Oh!" he said, in an altered tone; "so they left the chimney-stack, did they?" Mr. Wayman perceived that change of tone. "I begin to understand," he said; "you hid that money in one of the chimneys." "Never you mind where I hid it. There's little chance of its being found there, after bricklayers pulling the place to pieces. I must get into that house, come what may."
Wayman was her name Miss Carrie Wayman; perhaps you know her. I forget the name of the town she came from, but it was somewhere in the western part of America. No, Althea said, she did not know Miss Wayman, and she felt some little severity for the confusion that Miss Buchanan's remarks indicated. With greater emphasis than before, she said that she did not know the West at all.
"I've been busy in-doors all day, and I haven't heard anything," he said. Joyce told the story of his captain's fate, to which Dennis Wayman listened with every appearance of sympathy. "And you've no idea what has become of the girl?" Harker asked, after having concluded his story. "No more than the dead. She's cut and run, that's all I know." "Has her father gone after her?" "Not a bit of it.
"Why, the man has swept away every timber of the place I lived in." "I told you as much," answered Wayman; "I've heard say there was nothing left of old Screwton's house but a few solid timbers and a stack of chimneys." Screwton was the name of the miser whose ghost had been supposed to haunt the old place. Black Milsom gave a start as Dennis uttered the words "stack of chimneys."
The "Pilot Boat" was a dilapidated-looking, low-roofed little inn, where there were some tumble-down stables, which were more often inhabited by bloated grey water-rats than by horses. In these stables Mr. Wayman lodged his pony and vehicle, while he and Milsom walked on to the cottage. "Why I shouldn't have known the place!" cried Milsom, as his companion pointed to the captain's habitation.
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