Bradley Wentworth had some slight hope that the words he had spoken would prejudice the English tourist against Gerald, but he was destined to be disappointed. The two promenaded the deck together, and were evidently on the most cordial terms.

“The boy is artful,” thought Wentworth, “and for that reason he is the more dangerous. I wish he could happen to fall overboard. It would save me a great deal of anxiety, as he is the only one who is acquainted with the secret of my guilt.”

The voyage proceeded. There are many rivers that are more interesting than the Mississippi. The shores are low and monotonous, and the river itself in a large part of its course is turbid and narrow. There are but few towns of much size or importance between Davenport and St. Louis.

“I say, Gerald,” said Mr. Brooke, “we hear a good deal about American scenery, but if this is a specimen I can only say that it is a good deal overrated.”

Gerald laughed.

“I haven’t traveled a great deal myself, Mr. Brooke,” he said, “but I think you must have seen something worthy of admiration since you have been in this country. Have you been up the Hudson River?”

“Not yet.”

“Or seen Niagara?”

“Yes; I saw that. We haven’t anything like that at home.”

“I am told the Columbia River has some fine scenery.”

“I wasn’t in earnest, Gerald. It only occurred to me to joke you a little. You must admit, however, that there is nothing worth seeing here.”

“We don’t boast so much of our scenery as our men,” said Gerald. “Samuel Standish, for instance.”

“And Jake Amsden?”

“Yes.”

“I think we can match them both in England. I wish we couldn’t.”

On the third evening, however, there was a genuine sensation.

Some one raised the cry of “Fire!” and for five minutes there was a grand commotion. Those who were in their staterooms rushed out in dismay, and there was much rushing to and fro and wild confusion.

Among those who ran out of their staterooms were Gerald and Noel Brooke, but both of them were calm and collected. The Englishman looked about him quickly, but could see no signs of fire.

“I believe it is a false alarm, Gerald.”

At this moment one of the officers of the steamer passed by.

“Is there any fire?” asked Gerald.

“No; I should like to get hold of the miscreant who raised the cry. There is not the slightest indication of fire anywhere.”

Satisfied by this assurance the two friends returned to their stateroom. As they reached the door which had been left open a man darted out.

“Hallo, there!” exclaimed Noel Brooke, seizing him. “What brings you in my stateroom?”

“Why, it’s Standish!” exclaimed Gerald.

“I beg your pardon,” said Samuel Standish apologetically. “I thought it was my room.”

“That isn’t very probable!” rejoined Brooke sternly.

“I assure you, Mr. Brooke, that it is the truth. I was so alarmed that I really did not know what I was about. I presumed the steamer was doomed, and wished to secure my small baggage, for I am a poor man and couldn’t afford to lose it. Of course when I looked around me I saw that I was mistaken. I hope you will pardon me. Is the fire out? Excuse my agitation.”

“There has never been any fire. Some scoundrel raised the alarm. If he should be found he would probably be thrown overboard by the indignant passengers.”

“And serves him right, too!” said the virtuous Standish. “You have no idea what a shock he gave me. I am a victim of heart disease, and liable to drop at a minute’s notice.”

“I suppose you are ready to go?” said Brooke ironically.

“Well, no, I can’t quite say that. Life is sweet, even if I am a poor man.”

“Where is your stateroom?”

“On—on the opposite side of the steamer.”

“Then it seems rather strange that you should have mistaken ours for yours.”

“So it is, so it is! I can’t understand it at all, I give you my word. The sudden fright quite upset me. Didn’t it upset you?”

“No.”

“How I envy you! But it is no doubt the condition of my heart. Well, it is fortunate that the alarm was a false one.”

Meanwhile the officers had been instituting an investigation as to the person who had raised the cry.

A typical Yankee, who looked as if he had recently come from New England, pointed to Standish and said, “I am positive that man raised the alarm.”

There was an immediate commotion. Voices from the crowd of passengers called out: “Throw him into the river! Lynch him!”

Standish turned ghastly pale as he saw the menacing glances of those around him.

“I assure you, gentlemen,” he protested, “this is a base calumny.”

“Do you mean to tell me I lie?” demanded the Yankee fiercely.

“No, no, I beg your pardon. I only mean to say you are mistaken!”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Throw him into the river! There he will be safe from fire!” called out one man.

“Yes, yes, throw him into the river!”

Samuel Standish was not a hero. Indeed, he was far from it. He seemed overcome with fear, and his knees smote with terror as a brawny cowboy seized him by the shoulder and hurried him towards the side.

“A ducking will do him no harm,” said the cowboy, and he evidently voiced the sentiment of his fellow passengers.

“Gentlemen, friends!” exclaimed Standish, “I can’t swim a stroke. Would you murder me?”

The position was critical. His appearance was against him, and had Gerald or his English friend mentioned the intrusion of Standish into their stateroom it would have been all up with him. But he found a friend just when he needed one most. Bradley Wentworth pushed his way through the crowd, and exclaimed angrily: “Let go that man! I won’t permit this outrage.”

“He raised the alarm of fire.”

“He did not! I was standing six feet from him when the cry was raised, and if it had been he I should have known it.”

“But I heard him,” insisted the Yankee.

“You are mistaken! I hope you will not compel me to use a harsher word. I appeal to the officers of this boat to prevent an outrage upon an unoffending man.”

Bradley Wentworth was handsomely dressed, and looked to be a man of wealth and standing, and his testimony had great weight. The Yankee was poorly dressed, and from all appearances a laboring man. The fickle crowd changed at once and such cries were heard as “It’s a shame!” “It’s an outrage!” Samuel Standish was released. The tide had turned and he was safe.

“Sir,” he said, turning to Bradley Wentworth, “I thank you for your manly words. You have saved my life. You are a stranger to me, but hereafter I shall always remember you in my prayers.”

“Thank you,” answered Wentworth, “but I don’t deserve your gratitude. What I have done has been in the interest of justice; for I feel no interest in you except as a man unjustly treated. I would have done as much for any of my fellow passengers.”

These words created a very favorable impression and completely cleared Standish from suspicion, except in the minds of the Yankee passenger, Gerald and Noel Brooke.

“I believe Standish was the man,” said Brooke when they were by themselves, “and Mr. Wentworth’s interference in his favor leads me to think there is something between them.”

“But why should he give such an alarm?” asked Gerald puzzled.

“To get a chance to enter our stateroom.”

“I don’t quite understand why he should enter our stateroom rather than any other?”

“Gerald,” said his friend significantly, “he was after your papers. He thought you might keep them in the stateroom.”

“Do you really think that, Mr Brooke?”

“I think it altogether likely, and that he has been engaged for the purpose by your friend, Mr. Bradley Wentworth. Unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall see more of Mr. Standish after we land.”

“I believe you are right, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald thoughtfully. “I shall most certainly adopt your suggestion, and copy the papers as soon as I reach St. Louis.”

The steamer arrived about three o’clock in the afternoon. Noel Brooke and Gerald went to the Lindell House and registered. An hour later, in the lobby of the hotel, looking, it must be confessed, rather out of place in his elegant surroundings, they recognized the familiar figure of Samuel Standish.