“Are you ready now?” he cried, as soon as the latter appeared at the hall door.
“No, I’m not ready,” said Phil; “and what is more, I am not going at all.”
Chap opened his mouth and eyes, and jammed his hands down into his trousers pockets.
“This is a pretty piece of business!” he exclaimed. “Here I’ve been up ever since sunrise getting my traps ready, and mother has put up a basket of provender, and everything is all ready for us to take up as we pass our house. I didn’t think you were that kind of fellow, Phil.”
“I didn’t think so myself,” said his companion; “but there’s no use of our shooting wild this way. Just you sit down and read that letter.”
Chap took a seat on a bench, and, leaning over, with his elbows on his outspread knees, he carefully read Mr. Berkeley’s letter.
When he had finished it, and had turned over the sheet to see if there was anything more on the last page, he looked steadfastly at Phil, then whistled, and then lay back and laughed as if he would crack his sides.
Phil could see no cause for merriment, but the example was contagious, and he began to laugh, too.
“I always knew your uncle was a rare customer,” said Chap, at last; “but I never thought he’d be up to a thing like this. Why, Phil,” he cried, starting to his feet, “I’d rather be in your place than own a tug-boat!”
This was putting the matter very strongly, for to own a tug-boat, with which he could make a fortune by towing vessels up and down the river, was one of Chap Webster’s most earnest aspirations.