And so he was. Our young hero was not only a strong, manly boy, but there was something very attractive in his clear eyes and frank smile, browned though his skin was by constant exposure to the sun and wind. He was a general favorite in the town, or, rather, in the two towns, for he was as well known in Portville as he was in Chester.
I have said he was a general favorite, but there was one at least who disliked him. This was Phil Courtney, a boy about his own age, the son of an ex-president of the Chester bank, a boy who considered himself of great consequence, and socially far above the young boatman. He lived in a handsome house, and had a good supply of pocket-money, though he was always grumbling about his small allowance. It by no means follows that money makes a boy a snob, but if he has any tendency that way, it is likely to show itself under such circumstances.
Now, it happened that Phil had a cousin staying at his house as a visitor, quite a pretty girl, in whose eyes he liked to appear to advantage. As Grit reached the shore, where he had tied his boat, they were seen approaching the same point.
"I wonder if Phil is going to favor me with his patronage," thought Grit, as his eyes fell upon them.
"Here, you boatman!" called out Phil, in a tone of authority. "We want to go over to Portville."
Grit's eyes danced with merriment, as he answered gravely:
"I have no objection to your going."
The girl laughed merrily, but Phil frowned, for his dignity was wounded by Grit's flippancy.
"I am not in the habit of considering whether you have any objection or not," he said haughtily.
"Don't be a goose, Phil!" said his cousin. "The boy is in fun."