“I am glad that he was not intemperate. You saw the accident?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please tell me once more what you can.”
“I took a boat down at the Battery to have a row one afternoon, when, after a while, I saw another boat comin’ out with three fellers into it. One of them was your son, Edward.”
“Did you know Edward’s companions?”
“Never saw them before in my life. They was about as old as he. Well, by and by one of them stood up in the boat. I surmise he had been drinkin’. Then, a minute afterward, I saw the boat upset, and the three was strugglin’ in the water.
“I didn’t take no interest in the others, but I wanted to save Edward, so I jumped into the water and made for him. That is, I thought I did. But it so happened in the confusion that I got hold of the wrong boy, and when I managed to get him on board my boat, I saw my mistake. It was too late to correct it—excuse my emotion, ma’am,” and Mr. Floyd drew a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes; “but when I looked out and couldn’t see either of the other young fellers, and realized that they were drowned, I felt awful bad.”
Mrs. Trimble put her handkerchief to her eyes and moaned. The picture drawn by Mr. Floyd was too much for her.
“I wish I could see the young man whose life you saved,” she said, after a pause, “Have you his name and address?”
“No, ma’am; he didn’t even thank me. I didn’t get even the price of a glass of—sarsaparilla out of him.”