A Sailor in Spite of Himself

by Harry Castlemon

"Nary soul," answered the man. "She's yours, and Gus Layton ain't got no business with her."

"I guess it's all right, Bob," said Mr. Gibbons, turning away. "You can take her home with you. Remember, I shall have a copy of that will to-morrow. Good-bye."

"Say, Mister Bob, is it true that old Layton has got all of your property?" said the old fisherman, whose name was Oakes. "I think it's a mighty mean piece of business. Do you want to go off to her? Jump into my boat. I'll get the key to the cabin."

"I don't think I am doing right until I see the codicil," said Bob, hesitatingly. "If father thought I could have her, well and good; if he didn't, I wouldn't touch her."

"Who's going to have her, then?" exclaimed Oakes. "Not your cousin, I bet you. I've seen him since he come back, driving your ponies around, and I tell you I wanted to take them away from him. Get into the boat and I will soon set you aboard. Where are you living now; up to Ben's? Then there's nothing to hinder you from taking her right up there."

Mr. Oakes got the key to the cabin, and, seizing Bob by the arm, was gently forcing him into the boat when a loud shout came to their ears. The two looked up and saw Hank Lufkin coming toward them. He was a boy who stood well in that community, although he was nothing but a market-shooter. His clothes were patched, but aside from that he looked as neat as a new pin. Rumor said he didn't get along very smoothly when he was at home, and perhaps you will know the reason when we say that his father was a lazy, do-nothing sort of fellow, and every cent Hank made he had to hide, for fear his father would get hold of it. His mother kept an account of all his earnings, while his father was obliged to live from hand to mouth, spending such sums as he could make by sawing wood about the village. If he had owned a boat he would have been all right, for then he would have gone a-fishing; but every day he was obliged to stand on shore and watch other men when they returned with the cargoes which they had gathered from their nets—men no better than he was, he often declared—and of course he did not feel very jubilant over it. And right there was what was the matter with Mr. Lufkin; he was jealous of anybody who held a position he could not hold himself, but he never thought of going to work to better his own condition.

"I am just as good as they are," said Mr. Lufkin to his wife, "and I'll bet you that nobody gives me a boat."

"Why, those men had to earn their boats," said his wife. "If you would just throw off your coat and go to work you could soon have one."

"Work! I might work till I am gray-headed, and I wouldn't be nearer a boat than I am now. Mark my words: I'll have a boat before another year passes over my head."

This was the kind of a man that Hank Lufkin lived with, and of course his life was not a happy one. Hank did not own a boat, but he had an old-fashioned single-barreled gun with which he managed to kill a few squirrels and quails, and by sitting for long hours on the end of the pier he often succeeded in catching a string of flounders which the neighbors were always willing to buy; but Hank was not satisfied. He wanted a boat as bad as his father did, but he was willing to work to earn it. Just now his prospects were rather dim. There hadn't been much shooting lately, and the fish seemed to have gone somewhere else; so Hank didn't have much to do, and he was ready to go with Bob anywhere he wanted to sail, for Hank knew Bob well. He always made some money when he went fishing with him.