"Never mind, I've got good news."
"What is that?"
"Mr. Shalley is going to allow us an extra five dollars this month."
"Good enough."
Randy had received several letters from home. Matters were going smoothly and Mr. Thompson was feeling better every day. The garden was doing finely. In one letter Mrs. Thompson wrote that there had been two strikes at the iron works, each due to Mr. Bangs' overbearing manner towards his workmen.
"I thought he'd have trouble sooner or later," said Randy to himself, as he perused the communication. "What a pity that Mr. Bartlett isn't in charge."
One fine afternoon the Helen Shalley was steaming down the river as usual and Randy was near the bow, coiling up a hawser, when he noticed a sloop some distance ahead. It was tacking in an uncertain manner, as if the party on board did not know much about sailing such a craft.
The sloop was directly in the path of the big steamboat, and the latter gave a warning whistle and then turned to one side. As she did this the sloop turned in the same direction.
"Hullo! What does that fellow in the sloop mean?" cried Randy to Jones, who was near.
"What's the matter?"