"A rich man whose life I once saved, Aunt Deborah."
"You don't say so, Ferdinand!" said Aunt Deborah, interested. "Tell me all about it."
"So I will, aunt, though I don't often speak of it," said Ferdinand, modestly. "It seems like boasting, you know, and I never like to do that. But this is the way it happened.
"Now for a good tough lie!" said Ferdinand to himself, as the old lady suspended her work, and bent forward with eager attention.
"You know, of course, that New York and Brooklyn are on opposite sides of the river, and that people have to go across in ferry-boats."
"Yes, I've heard that, Ferdinand."
"I'm glad of that, because now you'll know that my story is correct. Well, one summer I boarded over in Brooklyn—on the Heights—and used to cross the ferry morning and night. It was the Wall street ferry, and a great many bankers and rich merchants used to cross daily also. One of these was a Mr. Clayton, a wholesale dry-goods merchant, immensely rich, whom I knew by sight, though I had never spoken to him. It was one Thursday morning—I remember even the day of the week—when the boat was unusually full. Mr. Clayton was leaning against the side-railing talking to a friend, when all at once the railing gave way, and he fell backward into the water, which immediately swallowed him up."
"Merciful man!" ejaculated Aunt Deborah, intensely interested. "Go on, Ferdinand."
"Of course there was a scene of confusion and excitement," continued Ferdinand, dramatically. 'Man overboard! Who will save him?' said more than one. 'I will,' I exclaimed, and in an instant I had sprang over the railing into the boiling current."
"Weren't you frightened to death?" asked the old lady. "Could you swim?"