Part 20 (1/2)

But he came again; and this time stayed three days. Mark allowed it, for Carl's sake. All he said was, ”He can not be of much use in the restaurant up there. What is he? Cook? Or waiter?”

”Oh, Schwartz isn't a servant, old fellow. He helps entertain the guests.”

”Sings, I suppose.”

Carl did not reply, and Deal set Schwartz down as a lager-beer-hall ballad-singer, borne southward on the tide of winter travel to Florida.

One advantage at least was gained--when Schwartz was there, Carl was less tempted by the swamp.

And now, a third time, the guest came. During the first evening of this third visit, he was so good-tempered, so frankly lazy and amusing, that even Deal was disarmed. ”He's a good-for-nothing, probably; but there's no active harm in him,” he said to himself.

The second evening was a repet.i.tion of the first.

When he came home at sunset on the third evening, Carl was lying coiled up close to the wall of the house, his face hidden in his arms.

”What are you doing there?” said Deal, as he pa.s.sed by, on his way to put up the tools.

No answer. But Carl had all kinds of whims, and Deal was used to them.

He went across to Scip's chimney.

”Awful time, cap'en,” said the old negro, in a low voice. ”Soon's you's gone, dat man make young ma.r.s.e drink, and bot' begin to holler and fight.”

”Drink? They had no liquor.”

”Yes, dey hab. Mus' hab brought 'em 'long.”

”Where is the man?”

”Oh, he gone long ago--gone at noon.”

Deal went to his brother. ”Carl,” he said, ”get up. Dinner is ready.”

But the coiled form did not stir.

”Don't be a fool,” continued Deal. ”I know you've been drinking; Scip told me. It's a pity. But no reason why you should not eat.”

Carl did not move. Deal went off to his dinner, and sent some to Carl.

But the food remained untasted. Then Deal pa.s.sed into the house to get some tobacco for his pipe. Then a loud cry was heard. The hiding-place which his Yankee fingers had skillfully fas.h.i.+oned in the old wall had been rifled; all his money was gone. No one knew the secret of the spot but Carl.

”Did he overpower you and take it?” he asked, kneeling down and lifting Carl by force, so that he could see his face.

”No; I gave it to him,” Carl answered, thickly and slowly.

”You _gave_ it to him?”

”I lost it--at cards.”

”_Cards_!”

Deal had never thought of that. All at once the whole flashed upon him: the gambler who was always ”around” with the ”orchestra fellows”; the ”restaurant” at San Miguel where he helped ”entertain” the guests; the probability that business was slack in the ancient little town, unaccustomed to such luxuries; and the treasure-trove of an old acquaintance within a day's journey--an old acquaintance like Carl, who had come also into happy possession of a rich brother. A rich brother!--probably that was what Schwartz called him!