“Ten cents,—ten cents all round; no partiality,” said the steersman, declining the proffered coin. “About Jack—I’ve knowed him off and on for a couple o’ year an’ more, and I never believed he would steal.”
“It wasn’t exactly stealing.—Hurry up with your money!—Some disputed property.—Ten cents, boys!—He believed it was his, and took it.—Why don’t you pay up, you fellows?”
Nobody but Sellick, however, seemed to think it desirable to pay money for being landed on the tow-path; and Sellick was unwilling to pay for the crowd.
“On the whole,” remarked the steersman, “I guess I won’t take your money. You may all ride up to the Basin for nothing. But you’ll have to git off on the bridge, for we don’t stop.—No, sir!” as Sellick offered to lay his hand on the tiller. “You’re a perty good-lookin’ chap, but ye can’t come that nonsense here. I’m steersman of this craft, jest about now. You’re welcome to yer ride, gentlemen, bein’ friends of Jack’s. Remember me to him, will ye, when ye fall in with him?—which I hope you won’t in a hurry. Jest give him a hand-shake and a good word from his old chum Pete. Lay down that pike-pole, mister, or I’ll lay you down!”
“I’m going ashore!” cried Sellick.
“You’ll go ashore in a way you won’t like!” said Pete; and there stood two rough, reckless-looking deck hands ready to back him.
Sellick dropped the pole with a laugh, which did not seem so spontaneous and hearty as some of the outbursts of merriment in which that mirthful gentleman had been known to indulge.
The spectators on the shore understood the movement, and, at sight of the jolly constable and his companions carried off against their will by the slow-moving wheat-boat, sent after them a chorus of jeers and laughter, in which mingled the tone of one stern and angry voice, that of Squire Peternot, who struck the “heel-path” with his heavy horn-headed cane, exclaiming, “Hang the wretches! hang the miserable villains!”