"But this money—"
"Don't stop another moment, my boy," interrupted the rich merchant. "If your father's hotel is as good as you say it is, we may stay there a week."
Under this imperative order, Leopold thrust the bills into his pocket, and leaped into the Rosabel. He had anchored the Orion off the wharf, in the deep water in the middle of the river, so that her boats could conveniently reach the landing-steps near the fish market. Hoisting his mainsail and jib, he stood down the river.
"Come and help us get on shore!" shouted Mr. Hamilton, as the Rosabel was disappearing in the fog. "We can't find the wharf."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Leopold.
In a few moments he had anchored the sloop at her usual moorings, secured the sails very hastily, and was climbing the steep path to the road. In spite of the pride which had prompted him to refuse it, the pilot's fee was a godsend to him, or, rather, to his father, for he determined to give the money to him immediately. He took the bills from his pocket, and found there were three ten-dollar notes. His heart leaped with emotion when he remembered what his father said—that he had not seen twenty dollars at one time for a month. The landlord actually needed the money to make purchases for the comfort of his new guests.
Leopold was almost beside himself with joy, and he rushed up the steep, rocky path without regard to the proper expenditure of his breath. Puffing like a grampus, he reached the road, and then ran with all his might, as if the Sea Cliff House was on fire. He rushed into the office, and flew about the house like a madman. His father was nowhere to be seen; but he spent only a moment in looking for him, and then darted out into the wood-shed. Filling a bushel basket with wood, chips, and shavings, he carried it into the big parlor, and lighted a tremendous fire in the Franklin stove. Another was made in the large corner apartment up stairs, with two bed-rooms en suite, which he always called Mr. Hamilton's room. He piled on the wood with no niggardly hand upon these, and four other fires he kindled in as many of the best rooms in the house.
Calling the chambermaid to attend to those up stairs, he returned to the public parlor, where he piled up the wood again.
"What under the sun are you doing, Leopold?" demanded his father, while he was thus occupied.
"Making fires," replied the son, vigorously. "I have kindled five up stairs."