GRIT ENGAGES ANOTHER BOAT.
When Phil displayed the bill of sale, made out in due form by Brandon,
Grit was for the moment taken aback.
"Whose boat is it now?" continued Phil triumphantly.
"It is mine," answered Grit quietly; "for Mr. Brandon had no right to
sell it."
"I have nothing to do with that," said Phil. "He is your stepfather--you
ought to feel proud of having a jail-bird in the family--and he told me
the boat was his."
"I shall not contest your claim at present," said Grit. "As long as it
passes out of my hands, you may as well have it as any one."
"I'll sell it back for ten dollars," said Phil, who had a keen scent for
a bargain.
"Thank you, I don't care to buy back my own property. Besides, Mr.
Brandon would be ready to sell it again to-morrow. As to what you say of
him, I shan't undertake to defend him. I am not particularly proud of
the relationship."
"What are you going to do for a boat to ferry your passengers?" asked
Phil.
"I don't know."
"I'll let you this for fifty cents a day."
"That would be about half of my receipts, and you would get your money
back in ten days. I don't care about making such a bargain as that."
"You'll have to give up your business, then," said Phil.
"No, he won't," said Jesse Burns. "I will give him the use of mine, and
won't charge him a cent."
"Thank you, Jesse. You are a true friend," said Grit warmly. "You are
doing me a great favor."
"And I am glad to do it. Suppose we pull to land? There are three
persons at the landing who look as if they wanted to be ferried across."
Grit seized the oars and impelled the boat to land. As Jesse had said,
there were three persons waiting, a gentleman and two ladies, who at
once engaged the services of the young boatman.
For this service he received thirty cents, and, finding two persons at
the other end who wished to come to Chester, the first hour in his new
boat brought him fifty cents.
Grit's spirits rose. His misfortune was not irremediable, after all. He
had feared that his means of living were taken away, and though he had
money enough to buy a new boat, he did not dare to do so, lest Brandon
should also sell that.
"I'll give him a piece of my mind," he thought. "It's contemptible to
come home and live on us, and then to take away my means of living."
Meanwhile, Brandon had gone to the tavern, which he entered with a
swagger, and immediately called for a glass of whisky.
The barkeeper hesitated.
"My orders are not to sell on credit," he said.
"Who wants you to sell on credit?" asked Brandon haughtily.
"You had no money last night."
"I've got some now. What do you say to that?" and he displayed the
five-dollar bill he had received from Phil Courtney.
"That alters the case," said the barkeeper complaisantly. "Your money is
as good as anybody's."
"I should say so. Give me another."
When Brandon left the barroom, he had spent a dollar, having drunk
himself and treated others.
"Wonder if Grit has found out about his boat?" he said to himself, with
a waggish smile, as he walked homeward with unsteady steps. "Serves the
boy right for treating me so disrespectfully."
It was not much out of his way to go down to the margin of the river,
and he did so. It happened that, as he reached it, Grit had just arrived
from Portville with a second load of passengers. Fortune, as if to
compensate him for his loss of a boat, had brought him an unusual number
of passengers, so that he had already earned a dollar.
When Brandon saw Grit engaged in his usual avocation, he opened wide his
eyes in surprise.
"Has the boy got his boat back again?" he asked himself.
He was not familiar with the appearance of the boat, and the name had
slipped from his recollection. Then, also, Jesse's boat looked very much
like Grit's.
When the passengers had walked away Brandon took measures to gratify his
curiosity.
"Where did you get that boat, Grit?" he asked.
"Ah, it's you, is it?" said Grit, seeing his stepfather for the first
time. "What business had you to sell my boat, Mr. Brandon?"
"Ain't I your stepfather, I'd like to know?" retorted Brandon.
"I am sorry to say you are," answered Grit; "but that doesn't give you
any authority to steal and sell my boat."
"Don't you dare to charge me with stealin', you--you young puppy!"
exclaimed Brandon, indignantly. "If you had behaved as you ought to me,
I wouldn't have meddled with your boat."
"I understand you, Mr. Brandon. Because I wouldn't give you the money
that I need to support my mother, you meanly and maliciously plot to
take away my means of living."
"You wouldn't give me your money to take care of for you."
"You take care of my money for me!" returned Grit disdainfully. "I know
very well how you would take care of it. You've already spent a part of
the five dollars you received for stolen property at the tavern, and the
result is that you can't walk straight."
"You lie! I can walk as straight as you!" said Brandon, and proceeded to
prove it by falling against a tree, and recovering his equilibrium with
difficulty.
"I see you can," said Grit sarcastically.
"Of course I can. Where did you get that boat? Is it the same----"
"The same you stole from me? No, it isn't."
"Have you bought it?" inquired Brandon, with a cunning look.
"No, I haven't, and I don't intend to buy another boat for you to sell.
I have borrowed it of my friend, Jesse Burns."
Mr. Brandon looked disappointed. He had thought the new boat would prove
a second bonanza, and he was already considering whether he could find
another purchaser for it.
"Have you made much money this mornin', Grit?" next inquired Brandon,
changing the conversation.
"I decline to tell you," answered Grit shortly.
"Grit, you don't seem to reflect that I am your stepfather, and set in
authority over you."
"I am not very likely to forget that I have a stepfather I am ashamed
of," said Grit.
"This is unkind, Grit," said Brandon, in a voice tremulous with maudlin
sentiment. "Because I've been unfortunate, and have been shut out from
all enjoyment for five years, you mock and insult me when I get home and
pine for domestic happiness."
"If you would behave decently, you wouldn't be reminded of the past,"
said Grit. "But how is it? You haven't been home but twenty-four hours,
and have already borrowed all the money mother had, and have sold my
boat, to gratify your taste for rum. There may be more contemptible men
in the world, but I never met with one."
"Grit, if you talk to me in that way," said Brandon, with attempted
dignity, "I shall be under the necessity of flogging you."
"You'd better not try it, Mr. Brandon. I wouldn't stand still while you
were doing it. I promise you that."
Just then two gentlemen came down to Phil's pier, and one asked:
"Can you take us across to Portville?"
"Yes, sir," answered Grit promptly.
The two gentlemen got in, and Grit was about to push off, when Brandon
said:
"Stop, Grit; I'll go, too."
"You'll have to wait, Mr. Brandon," said Grit coolly, and a determined
push sent the boat out into the stream, and frustrated the design of his
stepfather.
"You don't want any more passengers, I see," said one of the gentlemen,
smiling.
"Not of that kind," answered Grit.
"You are right. The man had evidently been drinking, and his presence
would have been disagreeable to us."
When the boat reached the opposite shore, the gentleman who had engaged
him handed Grit half a dollar.
Grit was about to offer change, but the passenger said:
"No, keep the change, my lad. You'll find a use for it, I make no
doubt."
"After all," thought Grit, who did not forget to thank his liberal
patron, "this isn't going to be so bad a day for me."
Five minutes later a man with a heavy black beard and rather shabbily
attired presented himself as a passenger.
"I say, boy," said he, "do you know a man named Brandon that has
recently gone to Chester?"
"Yes," answered Grit.
"All right. When we get over on the other side, you can just point out
to me where he lives."