“Hallo!” cried a voice at his side, “what are you doing here?” And looking up, Benny saw the man whom he had talked to that morning on the dock.
“I don’t know what I am doing,” he returned, in a distressed voice. “I’m getting carried off.”
“Kidnapped, eh? Who’s the fellow that’s run you aboard?”
Benny smiled a little, and told the man his story, ending with, “And I haven’t any money to pay my way.”
“And you’re afraid the captain will throw you overboard to get rid of you. Is that it?”
Benny looked a little disturbed. He didn’t know just what the captain might do.
“Well, it won’t break me to pay fifteen cents for you,” the man said, good-naturedly. “Jim Bentley ain’t aboard. He hunted up a lot of pickers and is taking ’em down on his bug-eye; wanted to be sure of ’em this time.”
Benny was a little puzzled as to what a bug-eye might be till he remembered that the small sailing vessels which came up from the truck farms were so called by those familiar with the craft in the bay.
“Yes,” continued the man, “Jim’s not goin’ to let ’em get away this time. There’s no boat back this evening, so you can’t get back home to-night.”
“Oh, what will mother say? She’ll be so worried,” exclaimed Benny, looking ready to cry.