"Forget it," advised Nat with a smile. "It's all right. I'll save boats for you regularly at this price."
"Do you work around the docks—er——"
"My name's Nat Morton," said the lad.
"And mine is John Scanlon," added the other, and he explained how he had come to leave his boat at the float. "I don't know that I will have any more boats to save, as my father's yacht will soon be leaving for Lake Superior. Wouldn't you like a place on her better than your regular job?"
"My regular job? I haven't any. I do whatever I can get to do, and sometimes it's little enough."
"Where do you live?"
"Back there," replied Nat with a wave of his hand toward the tenement district of Chicago.
"What does your father do?"
"I haven't any. He's—he's dead." And Nat's voice broke a little, for his loss had been a comparatively recent one.
"I'm sorry—I beg your pardon—I didn't know——"