"That's right, and you are a good fellow. They say you are a Bristol brick."
"Perhaps I am, but I don't happen to know you, and can't say what sort of a brick you may be," replied Paul.
"I'm a perfect brick. Gi' me them oars and I'll pick up them logs," continued Tom, extending his hand to receive them.
"I'll help you do it," replied Paul, taking the painter and hauling in the boat.
"What's your name?"
"Jack Sheppard," replied Tom, with a fresh grin.
"Have you got a rope, Jack Sheppard?"
"Never mind the logs; they don't belong to me, and I don't care for 'em. Can't you lend me this boat a little spell? I want to git some saxifax over there for my mother."
"I can't spare her now; I have to go over to Westport after my sister," answered Paul.
"Be you, though? I guess I'll go over with you," said Tom, with refreshing confidence.