"I will give you eight cents apiece for all you have," said Bangs.
"You can't buy them at that price. If you don't want them at ten cents apiece, I shall take them over to Rockland," replied Leopold, who did not wish to offend the members of the fish firm, for they had often bought out his fare, and he wished to keep on the right side of them for operations in the future.
Mr. Bangs considered, parleyed, and then offered nine cents; but finally, when Leopold was found to be inflexible, he yielded the point, and agreed to pay the ten cents. The mackerel were unloaded and conveyed to the market, when the sale of them at retail commenced immediately. The fish were so large and handsome that twenty cents did not appear to be a very extravagant price for them, considering the scarcity of the article in the market. In the settlement, Leopold received forty-six dollars; Stumpy's share, according to a standing agreement, was one quarter of the proceeds of the sale; and the eleven dollars and a half which he put into his wallet was quite as satisfactory to him as the thirty-four dollars and a half was to Leopold. Both of them felt that they had been favored by fortune to an extraordinary degree, and they were very happy. The old boat was sailed back to her usual moorings. The tinkers were equally divided between the young fishermen, and they went home.
By eleven o'clock Stumpy had poured into the lap of his astonished mother the proceeds of his morning's work, and Leopold had informed his father of the second big haul he had made that season. As before, Mr. Bennington—but with some additional cautions—told his son to keep the money he had made.
"The sick man is in a peck of trouble this morning," added the landlord of the Cliff House, when the exciting business of the occasion had been disposed of.
"What's the matter of him?" asked Leopold.
"He has lost his book, his record, or whatever it is," added Mr. Bennington. "He has sent for everybody belonging in the house, including many of the boarders. He wants to see you."
"I'm sure I don't know anything about it," replied Leopold, who, judging by what the invalid had said about the book, realized that the loss of it must distress him very much.
"No one seems to know anything about it; and the sick man will have it that some one has stolen the book. I laughed at him, and told him no one would steal such a thing, for it was worth nothing to anybody but himself. But go up and see him, Leopold."
The young man hastened to the room of the sick man. Harvey Barth was certainly very miserable on account of the loss of his diary. He spoke of it as he would have done if it had been some dear friend who had been taken away from him by death; but then he was sick and rather childish, and the people about the hotel pitied and sympathized with him.