"You and Mr. Graves are getting to be great friends lately. What is going on?"
"O, nothing particular!" drawled Tom, in reply. "I was talking to him about a boat."
"I think you have had enough to do with boats," said the merchant. "It is time you were turning a little of your attention to something more profitable, if you ever intend to be any body in the world."
"O, yes, that's always the way!" muttered Tom, as he seated himself at his desk. "I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world. Every thing I do is foolish and unprofitable. But just wait until the Storm King is paid for, and I'll show father that some folks can make money as well as others."
Four days more passed, and Tom's nervousness increased to such a degree that it began to attract the attention of Mr. Newcombe, who wondered if the confinement of the office was not injuring his son's health. Bob Jennings was in much the same predicament; and on Friday evening he came to Tom with a very long face, and told him that the last cent of his ten dollars had been used to feed the family, and that if the prize did not arrive that night he would be utterly ruined; no provisions on hand, and no boat with which to earn money to buy any.
"Now, don't talk about being ruined," said Tom, impatiently. "You're always croaking, and I can't see the use of it. We'll get a letter this very night. It must come; because when those gentlemen in Baltimore find out that they are losing business every day by neglecting us, they will begin to bestir themselves."
Four o'clock, the hour at which the evening mail arrived, found them at the post-office; and to their intense delight the postmaster handed out the long expected letter. Tom knew it was the one he wanted, for he could see that it had been mailed at Baltimore. He could not speak, for his heart was too full for utterance; but he gave Bob a knowing wink, and started for the wharf on a keen run. As he was passing by the ship-yard, he ran against Mr. Graves.
"How's the yacht?" asked Tom.
"Finished from main truck to kelson," was the reply. "I am two days ahead of time. You can go to sea in her to-morrow if you wish."
"All right!" answered Tom. "You may expect me at nine o'clock. I've got your money in my pocket." Tom being in a great hurry to read his letter, left Mr. Graves very unceremoniously, and kept on to the wharf, followed by the fisher-boy, who now looked more like the Bob Jennings of old than he had done for many a day.