Haste and Waste | Page 2

mainsail had to be reefed, to make room for it.
The passenger, Mr. Randall, was a director of a country bank,
journeying to Shoreham, about twenty miles above the point where he
had embarked in the Missisque. He had crossed the lake in the ferry,
intending to take the steamer at Westport for his destination. Being a
man who was always in a hurry, but never in season, he had reached
the steamboat landing just in time to see the boat moving off. Procuring
a wherry, and a boy to row it, he had boarded the Missisque as she
passed up the lake; and, though the sloop was not a passenger-boat,
Captain John had consented to land him at Shoreham.
Mr. Randall was a landsman, and had a proper respect for squalls and
tempests, even on a fresh-water lake. He heard the announcement of
Lawry Wilford with a feeling of dread and apprehension, and
straightway began to conjure up visions of a terrible shipwreck, and of
sole survivors, clinging with the madness of desperation to broken
spars, in the midst of the storm-tossed waters. But Mr. Randall was a
director of a country bank, and a certain amount of dignity was

expected and required of him. His official position before the people of
Vermont demanded that he should not give way to idle fears. If Captain
Jones, who was not a bank director, could keep cool, it was Mr.
Randall's solemn duty to remain unmoved, or at least to appear to
remain so.
The passenger finished the first course of the dinner, which Mrs.
Captain John had made a little more elaborate than usual, in honor of
the distinguished guest; but he complained of the smallness of his
appetite, and it was evident that he did not enjoy the meal after the brief
colloquy between the skipper and the pilot. He was nervous; his dignity
was a "bore" to him, and was maintained at an immense sacrifice of
personal ease; but he persevered until a piece of the dainty green-apple
pie was placed before him, when he lacerated the tender feelings of Mrs.
Captain John by abruptly leaving the table and rushing on deck.
This hurried movement was hardly to be regarded as a sacrifice of his
dignity, for it was made with what even the skipper's lady was
compelled to allow was a reasonable excuse.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as the tempting piece of
green-apple pie, reeking with indigenous juices was placed before him.
At the same moment the bank director further indicated his
astonishment and horror by slapping both hands upon his breast in a
style worthy of Brutus when Rome was in peril.
"What's the matter, squire?" demanded Captain John, dropping his
knife and fork, and suspending the operation of his vigorous jaws till an
explanation could be obtained.
"I've left my coat on deck," replied Mr. Randall, rising from his chair.
"It's just as safe there as 'twould be on your back, squire," added the
skipper.
"There's six thousand dollars in the pocket of that coat," said the bank
director, with a gasp of apprehension. "Where's my coat?" demanded

he.
"There it is," replied Lawry Wilford, pointing to the garment under the
rail. "We had a flaw of wind just now, and it came pretty near being
blowed overboard."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as he clutched the coat. "I'm too
careless to live! There's six thousand dollars in a pocket of that coat."
"Six thousand dollars!" ejaculated Lawry, whose ideas of such a sum of
money were very indefinite. "I should say you ought not to let it lie
round loose in this way."
"I'm very careless; but the money is safe," continued the director.
"Stand by, Captain John!" suddenly shouted Lawry, with tremendous
energy, as he put the helm down. The squall was coming up the lake in
the track of the Missisque; a dull, roaring sound was heard astern; and
all the mountain peaks had disappeared, closed in by the dense volume
of black clouds. The episode of the bank director's coat had distracted
the attention of the young pilot for a moment, and he had not observed
the rapid swoop of the squall, as it bore down upon the sloop. He
leaped over the piles of lumber to the forecastle, and had cast loose the
peak-halyard, when Captain John tumbled up the companionway in
time to see that he had lingered too long over the green-apple pie, and
that one piece would have been better for his vessel, if not for him.
"Let go the throat-halyard!" roared he. "Down with the mainsail! down
with the mainsail!"
Lawry did not need any prompting to do his duty; but before he could
let go the throat-halyard, the squall was upon the sloop. Mr. Randall
had seized hold