ON BOARD THE MINNEHAHA.
“So you aren’t going back any more, then?” said Joe Fletcher, after
Dick had related to him the exciting experience through which he had
passed since the two lads had parted, apparently for good, in Mr.
Maslin’s store, a little more than an hour before.
“No,” replied Dick, firmly, “I’m not. I am done with Silas Maslin for
good and all.”
The boys were resting on a decayed tree-trunk by the side of the canal.
It was now almost dark, and both of them, having had nothing to eat
since noon, were hungry.
“I guess you’ve done the right thing, Dick,” said his friend. “You
aren’t likely to be any worse off than you’ve been at the Corner.”
“I’d have pretty hard luck if I was. I’d never amount to much as long
as I stayed with Mr. Maslin. He took care that I didn’t get much chance
to get up in the world. I wish now I’d more schooling,” said the boy,
regretfully.
“I’ll bet you know more than Luke Maslin, and he’s gone regularly to
the district school. At his age--he’s a year older than you--he ought
to be at the Slocum High School. I don’t think he cares a lot to study.”
“Many boys don’t seem to realize what they let get by them until it is
too late,” said Dick. “You and I, Joe, have got to cut our own way in
life without any help from anybody. I guess you can hold up your end.
As for me, I don’t intend to let any grass grow under my feet from this
on. If you’ve rested enough, we’ll move on to Norton’s. Perhaps your
friend Cap’n Beasley will give us something to eat. I haven’t had a
mouthful since dinner, and I feel as if I could clean out a pantry.”
“Same here. Captain Beasley is all right, and so is his wife. They
wouldn’t see anyone, even a tramp, go hungry if they could help it,”
said Joe as the boys resumed their march. “They’ve a daughter, too,
named Florrie. She’s as pretty as a picture,” and Joe grinned broadly.
Dick wasn’t particularly interested in pretty girls at that moment. He
was thinking whether Captain Beasley would consent to take him down to
New York along with Joe on the canal-boat.
“I guess he will if I pay him something, and I’m willing to put up
what’s fair,” mused the boy.
Norton’s Lock was about six miles from Cobham’s Corner.
Dick and Joe reached there at eight o’clock.
Captain Beasley’s boat was moored against the eastern bank of the
canal, and a few yards away was a good-sized liquor store, lit up with
kerosene lamps, and, judging from the crowd within, doing a thriving
trade.
There was also an open shed close by, partially filled with bundles of
shingles brought there for shipment from the mill a mile or so away.
Dick followed Joe aboard the canal-boat and was introduced to Captain
Beasley and his wife and daughter.
As soon as Mrs. Beasley found out that the boys were hungry, she spread
a corner of the table in the little cabin for them, laid out the
remains of a joint of cold mutton, boiled a pot of coffee, and upon
this, flanked by a plentiful supply of bread and butter, the two lads
made a very satisfactory meal.
Dick offered to pay his way to New York City, but the good-natured
skipper of the Minnehaha wouldn’t hear of it for a moment.
“You and Joe here are both of you welcome to go along with us, and it
sha’n’t cost you a cent. All I ask of you is to turn your hands to an
odd job or two, maybe, till we hitch on behind the tug that takes us
down the river.”
Dick accepted his generous offer with thanks, as Joe had already done
earlier in the day when he brought his meagre bundle aboard on the
strength of the captain’s former invitation.
“Neither of you lads seems to be encumbered with much dunnage,” said
the skipper, with a humorous glance at the two attenuated bundles
ranged side by side on a shelf and which contained all they boasted of
in the world.
“We both lit out in such a hurry that we didn’t have time to pack our
trunks,” grinned Joe. “Boggs skinned me out of sixty dollars; and as
for Dick, I believe there wasn’t anything coming to him, though he put
in many a year of good hard work down at Cobham’s Corner for Silas
Maslin, who runs the store and the village post-office.”
“I’ve heard of him,” nodded Captain Beasley, recharging his pipe, “and
I’ve heard of you, too, Master Dick, afore this,” and the skipper
looked at the bright, stalwart, young runaway. “Silas Maslin, I
understand, is a hard man to work for, though I reckon Nathan Boggs
can give him a few points in that line. Both of ’em have wives that
folks say would skin a flea for its fat. From which I judge that one’s
appetite isn’t pampered at either place.”
“That’s right,” corroborated Dick. “We’ve both been through the mill
and ought to know. I haven’t had such a good spread as was set before
us to-night right here since I can remember, and I’ve a pretty good
recollection.”
Mrs. Beasley and her daughter looked at one another in astonishment.
“Well,” said the captain’s wife, “you sha’n’t neither of you want for
enough to eat as long as you are with us.”
“What are you going to do when you reach the city?” asked the captain
curiously. “Got any money at all?”
“I’ve got about sixteen dollars,” replied Dick, and he told Captain
Beasley by what slow and arduous means he had amassed it.
“I haven’t a red cent,” admitted Joe, making such a comical face that
Florence Beasley burst out laughing.
“It’s possible I may start a bank and take Joe in as cashier,” grinned
Dick.
“Not a bad idea,” smiled the skipper, “so long as it isn’t a faro bank
or something of that sort.”
“I wouldn’t mind investing my capital in a sand-bank if I thought I
could sell the sand and make a profit,” put in Dick.
“Perhaps you would make a good speculator,” said the captain,
thoughtfully.
“Perhaps I would; but I’ve never tried my hand at it.”
“A successful speculator should, first of all, have brains, and then
money,” said Captain Beasley, punctuating each point in the air with
the stem of his briar pipe. “I judge you have the brains----”
“So have I,” interrupted Joe, with some animation.
“It was a rather poor speculation you entered into with Nathan Boggs,
wasn’t it?” and the skipper turned to Joe.
“I don’t call that a speculation; that was a dead skin,” cried Fletcher
stoutly.
“Well, you made an agreement with him to forfeit your wages if you quit
work before the end of your term of service; you put yourself at a
great disadvantage with such a man. It was to his interest to make you
quit beforehand if he could.”
“If I hadn’t quit I guess I’d been carried away in a box, so I’d have
lost anyway.”
“Well, you speculated on the chance of holding out, and came in for the
short end of the deal.”
“That was because I didn’t know what I was up against.”
“Even so; that is a risk that often confronts the speculator. That’s
where brains count.”
Captain Beasley looked at the clock, laid down his pipe and intimated
it was time to turn in.
He led the boys to the forward part of the boat, pointed to a small
open scuttle in the deck, and told them they’d find a mattress and a
couple of blankets down there. Then wishing them good night, he left
them to make the best of their narrow quarters.