"I refused to take him across the river this morning," answered Grit.
"Look here, young fellow, that isn't the way to carry on business. When you insult my friend Brandon, you insult me. I've a great mind never to ride across on your boat again."
"I don't mind losing your patronage," repeated Grit. "It doesn't pay."
"We'll discuss that another time. Where does my friend Brandon live?"
"You can inquire," returned Grit, by no means anxious to point out the way to his mother's house to this objectionable stranger.
"You're the most impudent boy I've met lately," said Travers angrily. "I'll settle you yet."
"Better settle with me first, Mr. Travers," said Grit coolly, and he pushed his boat back into the stream.
"I wonder who he is," thought Travers, as he walked away from the boat landing. "I must ask Brandon. I wish I could meet him. I'm precious short of funds, and I depend on him to take care of me for a few days."
Thomas Travers passed by the little cottage on the bluff, quite unaware that it was the house he was in search of. He kept on his way toward the village, not meeting any one of whom he could ask the proper direction.
At length, greatly to his relief, he espied in the distance the familiar figure of Brandon, walking, or, more properly, reeling, toward him.