“What grates on me,” said Phil, laughing, as they sat on the porch of Mr. Berkeley’s friend, the magistrate, “is to see Chap dressed up in that fine fashion, while Phœnix and I are going about in these old flannel clothes.”
“You forget,” said Chap, sitting up as straight as possible in his chair; “that I am your captain, and, therefore, ought to be better dressed. There is nothing that makes fellows knuckle down to rank and dignity like appropriate costume.”
“Well,” said Phœnix, “as we haven’t knuckled down much so far, I suppose we might as well do it until the purser makes you take off his clothes.”
“And when we get to Jacksonville,” said Mr. Berkeley; “I will have you all refitted.”
That afternoon, when the Humphrey Giles started northward, or down the St. John’s River to Jacksonville, our friends were on board of her.
After some persuasion from Mr. Berkeley the worthy magistrate consented to let Chap go, and depend upon the testimony of Adam for the conviction of the two young men who had committed the assault.
That individual had sold his little bears to a man who was going North, and, having a good job of work, he did not wish to leave Sanford. He came down to the pier to see his former companions depart, and bade them a hearty good-by.
“It is a great pity, boys,” said Helen, when they were all in the hotel at Jacksonville, getting ready to start homeward,—“it is a great pity that you brought nothing with you from your Indian River trip, not a shell, nor a sea-bean, nor even any of that beautiful Spanish moss which hangs from the trees.”
“Helen,” cried Chap, “what are you talking about? Don’t you know that rolling stones gather no moss?”
And, majestically waving his hand, he walked away.