Mr. Jackson was a slender, dark-complexioned man of forty, or thereabouts. He was fashionably dressed, and had the air of one who lives in a city. He had an affable manner, and seemed inclined to be social.
"Is this your business, ferrying passengers across the river?" he asked of Grit.
"Yes, sir," answered the young boatman.
"Does it pay?" was the next inquiry—an important one in the eyes of a city man.
"Yes, sir; I make more in this way than I could in any other."
"How much, for instance?"
"From five to seven dollars. Once—it was Fourth of July week—I made nearly ten dollars."
"That is a great deal more than I made at your age," said Mr. Jackson.
"You look as if you made more now," said Grit, smiling.