It was evident, therefore, that I had been robbed after the boat entered the Ohio River; but whether at Cincinnati, Parkersburg, Baltimore, Philadelphia, or New York, I had no idea whatever. I threw the bag back into the trunk. My father had insisted that the safest way for me to convey my money to New York was in the form of a draft; but I was afraid that, being a minor, the banker would refuse to pay me, or that something else might occur to make me trouble. I could not help thinking again that fathers are almost always right. At any rate I was wrong, and too late I regretted that I had persisted in my own way. I had lost my money by it, though my father would have been just as correct in his position if I had not lost it.
While I was thinking of the disagreeable subject, I unrolled the ball into which the newspaper had been formed. One of the first things that attracted my attention as I did so, was the announcement of the "Heavy Forgery in St. Louis." One of the corners of the paper was lapped over in printing it, and this circumstance enabled me to identify it as the one I had purchased in Cincinnati, and read after I came on board of the steamer. One more fact was added to my knowledge of the robbery. My trunk had been rifled after I left Cincinnati.
This fact did not help me much; but it suggested an examination of the lock on my trunk. I could see the marks of some sharp instrument in the brass around the key-hole, and I remembered that I had had some difficulty in opening the trunk just before the collision on the Ohio. If the robber had left my trunk unlocked, I had not discovered the fact. The bolt had evidently been moved back by a bent file, or something of that kind. I cudgelled my brains severely to recall all the circumstances of my last day on board of the steamer. I had opened my trunk after dinner, and read all the letters of Ella Gracewood, not only because I had nothing else to do, but because it was the pleasantest occupation in the world to me. I was persuaded that my bag had been emptied that afternoon, probably while I was walking on the hurricane-deck, where I spent an hour just before the collision in obtaining my daily exercise, walking back and forth.
I could not help connecting the robbery with "Mr. A. McGregor;" but it was too late now to do anything. The money had gone, and so had Mr. A. McGregor. I could not find him if I tried. It was better for me to regard the treasure as lost, than to entertain the absurd proposition of finding it. What should I do? It was impossible to go to Europe without money, and a liberal supply of it, too. I still had two thousand dollars in the savings bank in St. Louis; but I regarded this as my capital for the future, when I should have an opportunity of going into business. I did not like to draw it, and I did not like the delay which it would require to obtain it. If I wrote to my father immediately, it would require a week to receive an answer from him. Then he would be obliged to give notice to the savings bank, and wait for regular days for drawing out money.
I must certainly wait a week, and perhaps a fortnight, before I could receive funds from St. Louis. I might miss my mother at Nice, and I was tolerably certain to miss the Gracewoods at Messina. I was vexed at the thought of this delay, and I am not sure but the fear of not seeing the Gracewoods fretted me more than the contingency of not meeting my mother, for the latter was to remain in Europe another summer, and I could follow her wherever she went.
Worse, if possible, than all this, I was ashamed of myself, because I had permitted myself to be robbed. It is not for me to say whether or not I am conceited; but I certainly had a great deal of pride of character. A mistake was not half so bad as a crime, in my estimation; but it was still very bad. I did not wish to be regarded, even by my father, whose judgment would be very lenient, as a young man who had not the ability to take care of himself. I did not like to confess that in neglecting the advice of my father, and following the behests of my own head, I had come to grief. Without doubt I was wrong; but I had been taught to depend solely upon myself, and to rely upon no arm but that of God. A blunder, therefore, was more to me than it would have been under other circumstances. While I was thinking of the matter, there was a knock at my door. It was Captain Farraday, and I admitted him.
"Well, Mr. Farringford, you seem to be busy," said he, glancing at my clothing laid upon the bed and chairs, as I had taken it from my trunk.
"Not very busy, sir, except in my head," I replied.
"Young men's heads are always busy," he added, with a jolly laugh, for he was still under the influence of the liquor he had drank, though he was not much intoxicated.
"I am full of misfortunes, mishaps, and catastrophes," I answered.