“Yes, sir,” replied Tim, a trifle awed by the gruffness of the voice.
“What can you do?” and the red-faced man now turned to have a better view.
“’Most anything, sir.”
“Where are yer folks?”
“My father an’ mother are dead,” said Tim, sadly, as he stooped to pat Tip’s head in a loving way.
“Well, now, see here,” and the man took Tim by the arm, as if he was about to examine his muscle: “I’m the captain of a steamboat that runs out of the city, and I want just such a boy as you are to work ’round at anything. I’ll give you three dollars a month and find you. What do you say to it? Will you come?”
Tim was not exactly certain what the gruff-voiced man meant when he said he would pay him so much money and “find him,” and he hesitated about answering until he could understand it.
Mr. Coburn thought it was the wages that prevented a speedy acceptance of the brilliant offer, and he hastened to show his friendliness to the captain by saying:
“Such offers as them don’t grow on every bush, sonny, an’ you had better take it. I’ve known Captain Pratt a good many years, an’ I know he will treat you just as if he was your father. Three dollars is a good deal of money for a little shaver like you.”
Tim looked at Sam for a moment doubtfully, and then he thought of what Mr. Simpson had said about his remaining at the farm.