A Millionaire at Sixteen by Oliver Optic

"Where is your vessel, Mr. Fobbington? " asked Louis, after the party had alighted from the carriage at the wharf, at which there was not a single craft of any kind.

"There she is," replied the owner of the Oxford, pointing at a schooner, painted white, at a considerable distance from the shore, with her foresail and mainsail flapping and banging in the fresh breeze.

A boat with two oarsmen was waiting at the wharf for the party, and the Parkites embarked immediately. The Oxford was anchored at a short stay in the middle of a landlocked bay, and the water was smooth, so that the lady was not affected by the motion. The visitors went up the accommodation steps to the deck of the vessel. She presented a neat appearance, though there was nothing gaudy or stylish about her, and Louis and Captain Ringgold proceeded to examine her.

When the boat was hoisted up at the stern-davits, the two sailors went forward, and began to trip the anchor. Without any orders from the owner and captain they then hoisted the jib. Before the party were fully aware what was going on, the schooner was under way, and standing out of the bay.

"What are you about, Mr. Fobbington? " demanded Louis, rushing up to the British millionaire at the wheel.

"Oh, it's all right; I wanted you and your friends to see the vessel under way, for you want to know whether she can sail or not," replied Mr. Fobbington, with what seemed to Louis to be a mocking laugh.

"Why, yes, Louis; we want to see her sail," interposed Captain Ringgold. "I should like to know how she works before I give my opinion of her, though perhaps I had better go into the hold and look at her timbers before we get into rough water."

"I am afraid my mother will be sea-sick," suggested Louis.

Fobbington had laid a course which would carry the schooner close-hauled out of the bay, and he called the two sailors, directing them to show the party into the hold. Captain Ringgold and Felix went with them, but just as they had gone down, Mrs. Belgrave called her son. She said she began to feel sick, and she wanted to return to the shore, for the sea outside looked rough and uninviting to her. Before he could join his companions below, the Oxford was passing out of the bay, and the lady was sick in earnest.

Louis conducted her to the cabin. As he reached the foot of the companion-way, he discovered, seated at the table in the middle of the apartment, John Scoble!

The truth flashed upon him instantly that he was the victim of a conspiracy. Frinks Fobbington was a creature of Scoble, and had lured him on board of the vessel.

By this time Mrs. Belgrave was too sick to notice anything; and with her face partially covered with her handkerchief, she had failed to see the only man in the world into whose presence she dreaded to come. Louis saw a stateroom with an open door, into which he conducted his mother, tenderly supporting her on his arm. He assisted her into a berth, and prepared everything in front of it for her use. Then she begged him to leave her by herself, and she should soon be better, for she was never sea-sick more than a few hours.

Louis went out into the cabin, closing the door behind him. Scoble was no longer there, and had evidently determined to keep out of sight for a time. There was another stateroom in the cabin; but the door was open, and Scoble was not in it. He looked all about this part of the vessel without being able to find him. Near the companion-way was the pantry, the door of which was open. He looked in and saw a door in the bulkhead, through which he concluded the real captain of the schooner had retired, and he did not care to search for him. He was likely to show himself soon enough.

Louis Belgrave did not feel at all like a young millionaire when he found himself in the cabin of the vessel he had proposed to purchase, with his repudiated stepfather in command of her. The sight of his tyrant, as he had come to regard him when they lived together in the old house, was a terrible shock to him. He was disgusted in realizing that he had fallen into a trap, and, what was a hundred times worse, that he had dragged his mother into one.

The young man did not apprehend on the part of Scoble any violence to his guardian-mother, as he sometimes called her, and always regarded her. Though he had practically been her guardian in saving her from the conspiracy of her husband, she was not only his legal guardian, but she had been his guardian angel from his birth to the present moment. Whatever he was morally, intellectually, and spiritually, he owed to her; and no human being, not even Blanche Woolridge, could come between her and himself.

As his mother was in no peril, and wished to be alone, Louis went on deck. The accomplished Mr. Fobbington was still at the wheel, and the two sailors were on the forecastle. The cook appeared to be getting dinner in his galley. He walked the whole length of the vessel, looked into the hold or between-decks, as the space seemed to be to him; but he could find nothing of Captain Ringgold and Felix. They had strangely disappeared.

The stylish owner of the Oxford had changed his garments, laying aside his nobby suit of black for one of blue, daubed with grease, tar, and dirt. Louis was able to understand by this time why the hands of the elegant gentleman he had met at the hotel were so little in keeping with his fastidious appearance in every other respect.

Fobbington's face was still that of the gentleman who spoke French so fluently; but that was all there was left of him outwardly. He looked as good-natured as when Louis met him on the piazza, and he approached him, hoping to ascertain what had become of his two companions.

"_Eh bien? _" (well) "Monsieur Fobbington? " said he, approaching the betrothed of the daughter of Sir William Lambold, baronet.