watery grave, as the case might be.

"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled
off the platform into the water.

"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.

"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned
the unhappy bank director.




CHAPTER III


SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS


Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the
summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had become
the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the
vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of
the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.

Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake
Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for
aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a larger scale
than ever had been known at Woodville. He had been remarkably
fortunate in his financial operations, and was already a wealthy man.