“But he’s not guilty!” cried the girl. “Nothing will persuade me to believe that.”
“We must bail him out,” said her father. “Bring me my deed-box.”
Rose rustled from the room, and presently returned with a square, japanned, tin box, which bore her father’s initials upon its lid.
The Pilot took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and quickly unlocked the box.
Upon the bare, polished table he placed a number of Bank deposit receipts.
“I can’t do it,” he said; “no more can Sartoris. But you can, my gal. Just add up these amounts, Cap’n, while I explain.” He handed the receipts to Sartoris.
“It isn’t often I’ve mentioned your uncle to you, Rosebud. But he’s a rich man, more than ordinary rich, my dear. Ever since you were a little dot, so high, he’s sent me money as reg’lar as the clock. I’ve never asked ’im for it, mind ye; and, what’s more, I’ve never spent a penny of it. I wouldn’t touch it, because I don’t bear him any love whatever. Before you was born, my gal, he did me a most unforgivable wrong, an’ he thinks money will wipe it out. But it won’t: no, no, it won’t. Howsomever, I banked all that money in your name, as it kept coming in; and there it’s been piling up, till I don’t really know how much there mayn’t be. What’s the total, Sartoris? Give us the total, man.”
But the Captain had forgotten his calculation, in open-mouthed astonishment.
“’Arf-a-minute, ’arf-a-minute,” he said, quickly giving his attention to the papers which lay before him. “Fifteen hundred and two thousand is three thousand, five hundred; and thirteen hundred is four thousand, eight hundred; and seven hundred and seventy-five is—— Why, there’s more money here than ever I saw in a skipper’s house before. I’ll need a pencil and a bit o’ paper, Miss Rose. There’s a mint o’ money—as much as would bail out a duke.”
Supplied with stationery, he slowly made his calculation; the Pilot watching him unconcernedly, and Rose checking the amounts one by one.