With an appearance of amazement that was well assumed, Sam, with one sweep of his oar, brought his yawl broadside to the wharf, and gazed at the wreck he had made; then, discovering the fisher-boy floating about in the water, he exclaimed:
"Why, Bobby Jennings, is that you?"
"I don't think there is any need of your asking that question," returned the fisher-boy, angrily; "I hope you are satisfied, now!"
"Why, Bobby, I had no idea that I was so clost to you," said Sam, who could scarcely conceal his exultation from the men on the wharf. "Here! ketch hold of this oar, an' I'll haul you in."
"I can take care of myself," was the reply.
"Why, Bobby, may I be sunk in the harbor this very minute, if I"——.
"That will do, Sam," exclaimed the fisher-boy, striking out for a vessel that lay along-side the wharf, a little distance off. "You need not talk to me; I know all about it."
The bully, anxious to conceal the real facts of the case from the ship-carpenters, loudly protested that it was all an accident—that he was innocent of any intention to disable the scow—and he even followed Bob as he swam toward the vessel; but the latter would not listen to him; he knew that Sam had sunk his boat on purpose, and he did not wish to speak to him again, if he could avoid it.
There was a staging moored along-side the vessel which had been placed there by some caulkers, who were then about to begin their day's work, and Bob crawled upon it, climbed up the ropes to the deck, and so reached the wharf. He walked to the spot where the collision had occurred, but nothing was to be seen of the Go Ahead. She had brought in her last load of fish, finished her work of carrying passengers across the harbor, and her wreck was at that moment lying beneath the waters which had so often been the scenes of her triumphs. Clumsy and leaky as she was, she had been of great service to the fisher-boy, and he felt her loss severely. He had built her himself, had sailed many a long mile in her up and down the bay, and it was no wonder that the tears started to his eyes when he gazed at the spot where she had disappeared. Sam Barton stood in his yawl, which lay at a little distance from the wharf, watching the movements of his discomfited rival, and, now that there was no one near to observe him, or to overhear what he had to say, he did not seem to be so very sorry for what he had done; on the contrary, he smiled grimly, and said, in an insulting tone: