Coming to the big wide waters shortly after we had rowed to shore with the brass box, he had seen our swinging lantern climb to the island’s summit. Frightened to a point of collapse in his advanced age by the night’s preceding events, he was now further unnerved by our presence on the island. The crazy idea came to him that we had dug up the bonds that the granddaughter (so he thought) had earlier buried. And to be near the bonds, with a view of secretly recovering them, he had hid on our boat, under the rear deck, and was there in the time of our trip into Steam Corners and back to the lock.
It was his drifting rowboat that Scoop and I had seen that morning when we went to the Sally Ann to get the stuff for breakfast. Further, it was the old gentleman’s footfalls that we had heard in our approach of the scow. And now that it is known that he was hidden under the deck where our food was kept, the mystery of the vanished ham is explained.
Lizzie had told us that her rascally uncle, on another visit to his wealthy brother’s home, had stolen a lot of the latter’s money. In fear of being caught with the money the thief had hidden it in a hollow leg of his brother’s old-fashioned piano, intending to return for the greenbacks later [[231]]on. And we know that he did return for the money, after an elapse of nearly three years, bringing with him a man as evil-minded as himself. Whether or not the piano tuner knew of the money’s exact hiding place before coming to the log house never will be known to us. For the uncle kept a still tongue in his scheming head in the time that he was in the hospital; and as soon as he was discharged he quickly disappeared. But I have always held to the thought that the piano tuner found out about the money’s hiding place that night in the kitchen. That may have been the cause of his attack on the other—his decision, I mean, to recover the money himself. However, we got to the piano ahead of either of the two law breakers, as I have related. And the money was properly turned over to its rightful owner.
In refurnishing his summer home, shortly after the theft and the subsequent secretion of the greenbacks, the banker had sold his old-fashioned piano to his gardener; and later the gardener had been appointed to the position of tender at the Steam Corners lock.
Well acquainted with the lock tender, the banker, in a return of his main senses, had settled for the destroyed sheets, thereby gaining the release of our show boat, in which he had started [[232]]for the island. How we had met him in the channel I already have described.
He had secured the “release” of my pants, too, as well as the show boat. And when I ran my hands into the pockets, there was our show money and my own eight dollars. Not a penny missing.
In Ashton we had a long talk with the mayor about the greased-pig trick. And when he learned that the policeman had been playing poker, when he should have been in the street on duty, it was mister blue jacket who got into trouble, let me tell you, and not us.
We hesitated to accept the two-hundred-dollar reward; for we didn’t want the girl to think that we had helped her in the thought of getting pay for our work. But the mayor said firmly that we had to take the money—the reward had been publicly posted, he explained, and consequently had to be paid. So we took it.
Back in Tutter again, we gave a sort of jubilee performance on the first night of our return, only I wasn’t of much help with my lame foot. We took in nine dollars and sixty cents. Everybody admitted that we had been very brave and Mr. Stair coaxed me to let him put my name in his newspaper. One of the big Chicago newspapers told about me, too, in eight or ten lines. It was [[233]]very pleasing to me to read about myself. The other fellows were mentioned in the article.
Following the jubilee performance I made out a report of our show business, which showed how much money had been taken in and how much had been paid out. Here is a copy of the report: