Shortly after the No-Name departed, manned, by Leopold and Stumpy, with the three passengers in the standing-room. On the passage, Harvey, at the request of his new friends, told the whole story of the wreck of the Waldo, and then dwelt with particular emotion upon the loss of his diary. One of the gentlemen resided in New York city, and volunteered to assist him in recovering the cherished volume. When they arrived at their destination, Harvey was not permitted to pay any portion of the expense of the trip; and the gentlemen insisted upon his accompanying them to the best hotel in the city, where from the abundant sympathy of the proprietor, he was not permitted to diminish his funds by a single dollar. Having, a few days after, obtained the fifty copies of the newspaper which contained his account of the loss of the brig, he started in the steamer for Boston, with a free ticket in his pocket.
His first care after he got on board the boat, was to read the narrative he had written. He was sorely grieved to find that the first half of the account had been struck out by the remorseless editor; but it must be added that this portion of the history was wholly irrelevant, being made up of observations on the outward voyage of the Waldo, and remarks upon the geography, climate, people and institutions of Cuba. Then, in the description of the wreck, Harvey was indignant when he found that all his finest passages had been eliminated from the manuscript. Adjectives and fine phrases without number had been struck out, and the poor steward felt that he might as well never have been a schoolmaster. The truth was, that the editor had only three columns of his paper to spare, and all he and his readers wanted were the facts in regard to the wreck. A vivid description of a tempest at sea seemed to be lost upon them. But Harvey felt that he should not realize half the pleasure he had anticipated in distributing the fifty copies of the paper among his friends at home.
It was late at night when the No-Name arrived at her moorings in the river at Rockhaven; for on the return trip the wind was contrary and very light. Leopold, after this "job," had reduced his indebtedness to Herr Schlager to about thirty-two dollars. Our space does not permit us to follow him in the process of extinguishing the debt, but it was all wiped out by the first of October. All the summer visitors had left the place, and it was a "dry time" at the Cliff House. The landlord counted up his profits, and felt rich when he realized that he owned the hotel, did not owe a dollar to any man, and had twenty-five hundred dollars in the bank, or otherwise available for immediate use. He had a plan drawn for the enlargement of the hotel which would give him fifty chambers, besides a large dining-room and parlor. But it would cost eight thousand dollars to complete the building and furnish the house; and being a prudent man, he decided not to carry out the project till his funds were considerably increased.
About the middle of October the steamer brought to Rockhaven a woman, apparently about forty years of age, who registered her name at the Cliff House as Miss Sarah Liverage. Though it was certain, from her own confession, that she had never been there before, she seemed to know all about the hotel, and all the persons connected with it. She was a plain-looking woman, well, but not richly, dressed, and her speech indicated that she was not a cultivated person. There was nothing remarkable about her, except her knowledge of the hotel, and a certain excitement in her manner, which indicated that she had come to Rockhaven for a special purpose, which, however, she was not forward in revealing. She followed the landlord into the office, though he insisted upon showing her into the parlor. She wrote her name in the register, and then astonished Mr. Bennington and Leopold by asking to have the room which had formerly been occupied by Harvey Barth assigned to her.
"That is not one of the rooms we usually give to ladies, and we can do better for you," replied the landlord.
"I'd rather have that room, if it don't make any difference to you," replied Miss Liverage.
"Certainly you can have it, if you want it, for it is not occupied."
"I shall be much obliged to you if you will let me have it."
"You knew Harvey Barth, I suppose," said the landlord, as Leopold, who often conducted guests to their rooms, picked up the small valise, which was her only baggage.
"Well, yes; I ought to know him. I took care of him in the hospital three weeks before he died," replied Miss Liverage, confidently.