Half an hour’s sail brought them to the village, and the fisher-boy, in obedience to Captain Newcombe’s orders, landed on the beach at his own home. As soon as the boat had been made fast to the shore, Bob’s wagon, with its shrieking wooden wheels, was again brought into requisition, and the fisher-boy began the work of discharging the cargo. As the articles, one after another, were brought out on the beach, Tom was astonished to discover that there was another incident in the life of a trader of which he had never dreamed. It had never occurred to him to think what he would do in case his cargo should be damaged; but now the question was presented to him in such a manner that it could not be avoided. He found that a great many of his eggs were broken. No doubt the damage had been done, either while they were going into the cove or coming out of it. The butter, also, was not in as good condition as it was when they left the farm-house. The rolls were broken, the cloth soiled, and the pail in which it was packed, having, by some means become uncovered during the storm, was half-filled with water. In fact, the only part of the cargo which did not seem to be injured, was the rooster, which crowed loudly, as Bob picked up the box and carried it to the shore. The fisher-boy was dismayed, when he came to examine into the condition of things; but Tom, who stood on the beach with his hands in his pockets, had suddenly discovered a way out of his difficulty.
“Never mind, Bob,” said he; “I’ll charge more for the eggs that are left than I intended to in the first place, and then I’ll sell those game chickens if I can get three dollars apiece for them. That would be—let me see—how much for the lot?”
“Nine dollars,” answered Bob.
“Well, I gave three dollars for them,” continued the young trader, “and I shall make by the operation, just—just—let me think a moment.”
“Six dollars,” said the fisher-boy.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Tom. “Then it will take (and here the young trader, being deeply interested in his calculations, forgot himself, and began to count his fingers) seven—eight—nine—ten. It will take just four dollars more to make up the ten dollars. I shall certainly clear that off the butter and eggs. Now, don’t you see where my ten dollars profit is to come from?”
Although the fisher-boy answered in the affirmative, he did not quite agree with Tom, for the thought occurred to him that, perhaps, he might not be able to sell his chickens at such a high price. However, he made no remark, and as soon as he had loaded his wagon with the eggs, he started off for Mr. Henry’s store. Tom waited until he was out of sight, and then went around by the wharf as before; and, when he arrived at the grocery, Bob had already been there, unloaded his wagon, and gone back to the boat after the rest of the cargo. The grocer met the young trader as he entered the store, and, after inquiring how he had weathered the storm, called one of the clerks to count the eggs. Tom stood by, looking on, and relating his adventures to the merchant—being very careful, however, not to say one word about the disgraceful manner in which he had deserted his vessel and crew in time of danger—and, when the eggs had all been counted, he found that he had just fifteen dozen whole ones left; six dozen had been broken during the storm. As the young trader stood looking intently at the floor, trying his best to determine how much he ought to ask for the eggs that were left, in order to make good what he would lose on the broken ones, the fisher-boy returned, bringing the game chickens and the butter.
“Those are fine looking chickens, Tom,” said the grocer. “How much do you ask for them?”
“Three dollars apiece!” was the answer.