The fisher-boy had been indulging in the hope that the loss of his two boats, and his long absence from his work, would operate as a sort of charm to break the "streak of bad luck," that had so long attended him in his fishing and ferrying. But in this he was disappointed. The fish were as shy of his hook as they had been two months before, and one day on the harbor opened his eyes to the fact that his skiff was altogether too small. Morning and evening were the busy times with the ferry-boys, for then the ship-carpenters went to and from their work. There were so many boys in the harbor, that none of them could make more than one trip before the passengers were all carried across, and, consequently, the boy who had the largest and cleanest boat made the most money. For example, the yawl that Sam Barton had used would easily accommodate twenty-five persons, and Bob's skiff would not hold more than nine; so, while Sam made fifty cents with every "full trip," the fisher-boy made only eighteen.
Bob worked early and late, but luck was still against him, and, at the end of the week, he had saved only a dollar, which he paid into the hands of Mr. Graves, who indorsed it on the back of his note. During the second week, he laid by a quarter less, and he began to believe that his mother knew what she was talking about when she told him that it was a great deal easier to go in debt than to get out of it. How many times he wished for the five-dollar bill he had given Tom Newcombe to invest in the lottery!
During the month following, Bob led a most uncomfortable life. He gave up fishing, and finished Mr. Henry's pile of wood, for which he received six dollars, which was also paid to Mr. Graves. The day on which the note fell due came at last, and so did the boat-builder, who, in a business-like way, informed Bob that he still owed him seventeen dollars, and that he would "give him the benefit of the usual three days' grace." The fisher-boy did not know exactly what that meant, but he did know that it was simply impossible for him to raise so large an amount, of money in so short a time. How often did he wish that the forty dollars in gold, which his mother still preserved—although she had more than once been at a loss to know where the next meal was coming from—belonged to him! But he would as soon have thought of breaking into Mr. Newcombe's office, and stealing seventeen dollars, as to use a portion of that to pay for his boat.
On the third day after the visit of the boat-builder, as Bob was sculling slowly about the harbor, looking for passengers, he was hailed by a man on the wharf, who, as he came up, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, saying:
"I am collecting for Mr. Graves, and I have a little bill of seventeen dollars against you."
"I can't pay it," replied the fisher-boy, hanging down his head, and looking as mean as if he had been detected in robbing somebody's orchard.
"Well, then, my orders are to give you back your nine dollars, and to take the boat," said the man. "Mr. Graves says he has been sadly deceived in you. You told him a falsehood."
The loss of the boat was a severe blow to Bob, but the knowledge that his reputation had suffered by his failure to keep his promise, was still worse. But that was not all. Mr. Henry and Mr. Newcombe were standing upon the wharf, and there were several ferry-boys close by. The two gentlemen opened their eyes and looked at Bob in great surprise, while one of the ferry-boys, delighted to witness the discomfiture of a rival, whispered,
"Bobby's been tryin' to play the swell!"
"Hurrah for us! There's one more out of the way!" said another.