"I don't want to see that fifteen dollars broken in upon," said the fisher-boy, taking a firmer grasp of the oar with which he was steering his clumsy craft, as if to indicate that he had determined to hold on to his fortune as long as possible; "I've worked hard for it, through storm and sunshine, have gone about my work ragged and barefooted, and now, if I lose it, I shall almost believe that I was born to be a fisherman, and that it's no use for me to try to be any thing else. If this money goes, it will be the third time I have been bankrupt. After mother agreed to let me go to sea if I would save thirty dollars, I went to work, and, at the end of three months, I had seven dollars in the bank. I was making money fast, and I thought that, at the end of the year, I should have more than thirty dollars laid by. But I had a streak of bad luck; the fish wouldn't bite, I couldn't make a dime a day ferrying, and four dollars out of the seven had to go to feed the family. After awhile, my luck changed again, and, in four months, I had saved twelve dollars and a half. Then I began to fall behind a second time, and every red cent of my twelve dollars was gone before I knew it. Then came a streak of good luck, which lasted almost six months, and, during that time, I saved just fifteen dollars. If that goes like the rest, I shall begin to believe that I am very unlucky. Now, there's Sam Barton! He doesn't work half as hard as I do, but he makes more money. I wish I had been in his place night before last."
Bob was not the only one who envied Sam Barton, for he was the most fortunate ferry-boy about the village. His companions all looked upon him with a great deal of respect; and the reason was because Sam owned the best boat, and could boast of more "regular customers" than any other boys about the harbor. On Wednesday evening, after the workmen had all been taken across, and the ferry-boys were seated in their boats, counting their money, and getting ready to start for home, a gentleman, who was standing on the wharf talking to an acquaintance, accidentally slipped off into the water. A dozen boats at once started to his assistance; but Sam was foremost, and, reaching the gentleman just as he was sinking for the last time, he seized him and lifted him into his boat. The man soon recovered from the effects of his involuntary bath, and, on being assisted on to the wharf, he thrust his hand into his pocket, and, pulling out a large roll of bills, tossed it to Sam; after which, he stepped into a carriage and was driven off. The ferry-boys, who had been interested spectators of all that had taken place, crowded up around Sam's boat; and when the latter had counted the money, he found himself the proud possessor of a hundred dollars—a much larger sum than he had ever owned before. The idea of a reward must have entered Sam's head the moment he saw the gentleman struggling in the water, for, after he had put the money carefully away in his pocket, he turned to Bob, who had been close beside him all the while, and coolly remarked:
"You're a purty good hand with an oar, Bobby Jennings, an' I'll allow that you can make that ar ole scow of your'n fly through the water amazin' fast, but it wasn't no use fur you to think of beatin' me in this race, 'cause I was pullin' fur money—I was. I knowed the ole chap would give a feller a dime or two fur haulin' him out of the water, fur I seed he couldn't swim the minute he fell in."
"So did I," said Bob, "but I never thought of a reward; I only wanted to save the man's life."
"I s'pose, then," said Sam, "that if you had been first, an' had pulled that feller into your boat, an' he had said 'Thank you, Bobby,' you would have been satisfied?"
"Certainly, I would!" replied the fisher-boy.
"Well," continued Sam, thrusting his hand into his pocket to satisfy himself that his money was safe, "mebbe that's a good principle to go on, but it won't bring you much bread an' butter—not more'n you can eat, any how. I believe a feller has a right to make all he can. In course, he oughter work, 'cause he'll soon starve if he don't; but when he sees a chance to make a few dollars easy, he oughtn't to let it slip. The world owes us ferry-boys a livin', an' the easier we make it, the smarter we be. But, 'pears to me, if I was a rich man, an' should fall into the harbor, an' couldn't swim a stroke, I'd give the feller that pulled me out more'n a hundred dollars."
The next day, when Sam came among his companions, the appearance of himself and boat excited the wonder and admiration of every ferry-boy in the harbor. His yawl had received a fresh coat of paint outside; and the thwarts were supplied with cushions, so that his passengers might have the benefit of easy seats. Sam was rigged out in a brand-new suit of clothes, and he sculled about among the ferry-boys as if he felt himself to be very important.
"What do you think of me an' my yawl, now, Bobby Jennings?" asked Sam, as he dashed up along-side the fisher-boy, who was seated in his scow watching the wharves on both sides of the harbor, in the hope of discovering a passenger. "Ain't we gay? That hundred dollars came in handy, I tell you."