The girl glanced doubtfully at the seat of the nearest pair of trousers.
"Well, we could," she said. "But pa's kind of set in his ways, and right now he's fishing for dollar bills with the boat-hook. He's apt to get sorta mad if he's interrupted."
"I'll give him fifty dollars if he'll put me on board."
"Got it on you?" inquired the nymph coyly. She had her share of sentiment, but she was her father's daughter and inherited from him the business sense.
"Here it is." He pulled out his pocket-book. The book was dripping, but the contents were only fairly moist.
"Pa!" said the girl.
The trouser-seat remained where it was—deaf to its child's cry.
"Pa! Commere! Wantcha!"
The trousers did not even quiver. But this girl was a girl of decision. There was some nautical implement resting in a rack convenient to her hand. It was long, solid, and constructed of one of the harder forms of wood. Deftly extracting this from its place she smote her inoffensive parent on the only visible portion of him. He turned sharply, exhibiting a red, bearded face.
"Pa, this gen'man wants to be took aboard the boat at quarantine. He'll give you fifty berries."