"Order in the court-room!" commanded the 'squire, and this put a stop to the conversation.
Sam Barton seated himself on a table that stood in one corner of the room, and settling into a comfortable position, patiently waited to hear what the judge had to say to him. A stranger would have thought him a spectator rather than a prisoner. The air of solemnity with which every thing was conducted, and the look of sternness assumed by the 'squire, did not trouble him in the least. Upon being questioned, he declared himself innocent of the charge, and defied the constable, Bob Jennings, or any body else, to prove that he had ever laid a hand upon the boat. Unfortunately for the fisher-boy, and the cause of justice, this was the difficulty; for what little evidence offered was all in Sam's favor. True, Bob repeated all the threats the bully had made about driving him out of the harbor, and away from Fishertown, but that did not prove that he had stolen the boat, for Sam's father testified that his son was in bed and fast asleep at eight o'clock. This convinced some of the spectators that Sam was innocent; for the fisher-boy said that he had seen the Go Ahead No. 2 lying safe at her wharf at nine o'clock. The truth of the matter was, that as late as eleven, Sam Barton was wide awake and full of mischief, having never been near his bed that night. But Mr. Barton did not know this, and he had told only what he believed to be the truth. Sam slept in a shed adjoining the house, and when he had any thing unusual on hand for the night, he always made a great show of going to bed; and then, when every thing was quiet, he would slip out and join his companions.
The culprit was cross-questioned by the lawyers for half an hour, but all to no purpose. He stoutly denied all knowledge of the boat, and, besides, he could not be made to contradict himself. Finally, after a long consultation with the constable and Mr. Graves, the 'squire dismissed him, telling him that he was satisfied, and that he was sorry to have caused him so much trouble.
"That's all mighty nice," said the bully, to himself, when he reached the street. "Mr. Grimes said I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes, an' I guess he'll find that he can't pull none over mine, neither. I'm sharper'n they think fur. I'll jest keep watch of that constable an' Bobby Jennings, fur I know what they're up to as well as they do."
"I am sorry that we can't do any thing for you, Bob," said Mr. Graves, as soon as Sam had taken his departure.
"So am I," replied the fisher-boy; "but, after all, it might have been worse. I never allow a little thing like this to discourage me, and I'll soon show Sam Barton that it is not in his power to trouble me long!"
This remark was made in the presence of several persons, who had lingered about the court-room to talk the matter over, and there was not one among them who did not believe that Bob was the spunkiest fellow he had ever seen. The fisher-boy's vanity was flattered by several remarks he happened to overhear; such as, "You can't discourage him. He will make his mark in the world one of these days!" "Yes," said another, "he is all grit. He will succeed in any thing he undertakes." Now, these men supposed that Bob was relying upon himself; but, had they known any thing about the lottery, and been aware of the fact that it was his intention to wait for his twenty-five hundred dollars, before he made a single effort to extricate himself from his difficulties, they might not have been so lavish in their praise.
During the next two weeks there were three boys in the village who lived in a state of constant fear and excitement. Bob Jennings was totally unfit for work; indeed, he grew more and more indolent every day he lived. He spent the most of his time in wandering about the wharves, watching Sam Barton, and living over, in imagination, the life he intended to lead as soon as his fortune arrived. He was not half so much troubled by the loss of his fine skiff as by the fear that something would happen to destroy all his bright hopes. The letter, in which he had sent his money to those gentlemen in Baltimore, might miscarry, or the whole thing might turn out to be a humbug, and then what would become of him? With a debt of twenty-six dollars hanging over him, with not a cent in his purse with which to supply his present necessities, and without a boat to carry on his business, what could he do? The fisher-boy would become frightened when he took this view of the situation, and then he would hunt up his friend Tom Newcombe, to make inquiries concerning the expected letter, and to listen to his words of encouragement.
"Isn't it time that money was here?" he would ask.
"Yes; and I'm looking for a letter every day. But don't be in a hurry. Those gentlemen are, no doubt, full of business, and they will write to us just as soon as they can find the time."