He had set a trap to have such a snake bite me in his house; but I was not thinking of that when I named the venomous reptile. This event, and the quantity of his own vile fluids he consumed, made him sensitive on the subject of snakes. I was afraid he would soon see more of them than he could manage.
"What made Nick run out so quick, and what did Peverell follow him for, without payin' for his liquor?" continued Captain Boomsby, when he had properly admonished me in regard to the snakes.
"I don't know, sir," I replied. "Who was the man that followed Nick?"
"Who is Peverell?" I asked. "What does he do?"
"He is the messenger, I believe they call him, of the First National Bank of Florida."
"That explains it all, then," I added, beginning to understand the situation.
"I don't see nothin'. What explains it all?" demanded the captain, testily.
"Peverell had a package when he came in. He put it on the counter before he poured out his dram," I explained. "When Nick went over the counter the package was gone. If Peverell is the messenger of a bank, I have no doubt the bundle contained money in bank notes."
"Creation! You don't! But what made Nick go over the bar so like a hoppergrass?" exclaimed the saloon-keeper.
"I don't know. I can only understand what I saw."
"If Nick's got that bundle of money, he's smart," added Captain Boomsby.
"Do you think it was smart to steal it, captain?" I asked, mildly.
"How big a package was it, Sandy?" replied my tyrant, turning away from the moral question.
"Creation! Then there ain't less than a thousand dollars in it!"
"Let us hope that Nick did not take it," I added.
"Well, you go out, Sandy, and see where Nick's gone. I can't leave both bars without anybody to look out for 'em, for them niggers will come in and steal the liquor as quick as they will chickens."
I was interested to know the meaning of what I had seen in the saloon, and I went out into Bay Street. A crowd of men were rushing towards a narrow street leading down to the river. I followed them, and, near the landing-place of the Charleston steamers, I saw a colored policeman lay violent hands on the rough-looking person who had walked into the saloon, looked into the negro bar, and then retreated.