CHAPTER XXIX.
AUGUST AND NORMAN.
In a story such as I meant this to be, the development of characterstands for more than the evolution of the plot, and herein is the truesignificance of this contact of Wehle with the gamblers, and, indeed, ofthis whole steamboat life. It is not enough for one to be good in acountry neighborhood; the sharp contests and severe ordeals of moreexciting life are needed to give temper to the character. August Wehlewas hardly the same man on this morning at Paducah, with the ninehundred and fifty dollars in his pocket, that he had been the eveningbefore, when he first felt the sharp resentment against the man who hadoutraged his father. In acting on a high plane, one is unconsciouslylifted to that plane. Men become Christians sometimes from the effect ofsudden demands made upon their higher moral nature, demands which compelthem to choose between a life higher than their present living, or amoral degradation. Such had been August's experience. He had been drawnupward toward God by the opportunity and necessity for heroic action. Ihave no doubt the good Samaritan got more out of his own kindness thanthe robbed Jew did.
Before he had a chance to restore the money to its rightful owner, thetwo hours of dog-watch had expired, and he was obliged to go on watchagain, much to his annoyance. He had been nearly twenty-four hourswithout sleep, and after a night of such excitement it was unpleasant aswell as perilous to have to hold this money, which did not belong tohim, for six hours longer, liable at any minute to get into difficultythrough any scheme of the gamblers and their allies, by which hisrecovery of the money might be misinterpreted. The morning seemed towear away so slowly. All the possibilities of Parkins's attacking him,of young Anderson's committing suicide, and of the misconstruction thatmight be put upon his motives--the making of his disinterested actionseem robbery--haunted his excitable imagination. At last, while theengines were shoving their monotonous shafts backward and forward, andthe "palatial steamer" Iatan was slowly pushing her way up the stream,August grew so nervous over his money that he resolved to relievehimself of part of it. So he sent for the mud-clerk by a passingdeck-hand.
"I want you to keep this money for me until I get off watch," saidAugust. "I made Parkins stand and deliver this morning while we wereat Paducah."
"You did?" said the mud-clerk, not offering to touch the money. "Yourisked your life, I declare, for that fool that called you a thief. Youare a fool, Gus, and nothing but your blamed good luck can save you fromgetting salivated, bright and early, some morning. Not a great deal Iwon't take that money. I don't relish lead, and I've got to live amongthese fellows all my days, and I don't hold that money for anybody. Theold man would ship me at Louisville, seeing I never stopped anybody'sengine and backed it in a hurry, as you did. If I'd known where Parkinswas, I'd a dropped a gentle word in the ear of the crowd outside, but Iwouldn't a pulled that greeny's coffee-nuts out of the fire, and I won'thold the hot things for you. I declare I won't. Saltpeter wouldn't saveme if I did."
So Gus had to content himself in his nervousness, not allayed by thisspeech, und keep the money in his pocket until noon. And, after all thepresentiment he had had, noon came round. Presentiments generally comefrom the nerves, and signify nothing; but nobody keeps a tally of thepresentiments and auguries that fail. When the first-engineer and a newman took the engines at noon, Gus was advised by the former to get somesleep, but there was no sleep for him until he had found Norman, whotrembled at the sight of him.
"Where is your state-room?" said August sternly, for he couldn't bringhimself to speak kindly to the poor fellow, even in his misery.
Norman turned pale. He had been thinking of suicide all the morning, buthe was a coward, and now he evidently felt sure that he was to be killedby August. He did not dare disobey, but led the way, stopping to try toapologize two or three times, but never getting any furtherthan "I--I--"
Once in the state-room, he sat down on the berth and gasped, "I--I--"
"Here is your money," said August, handing it to him. "I made thegambler give it up."
"I--I--" said the astonished and bewildered Norman.
"You needn't say a word. You are a cowardly scoundrel, and if you sayanything, I'll knock you down for treating my father as you did. Onlyfor--for--well, I didn't want to see you fleeced."
Norman was ashamed for once, and hung his head. It touched the heart ofAugust a little, but the remembrance of the attack of the mob on hisfather made him feel hard again, and so his generous act was performedungraciously.