If, he reflected, as he walked home, he could only start that ferry and so bring a little grist to the mill, it would at least help to relieve his father of some of his anxiety. But one cannot make bricks without straw. And he was face to face with the cold fact that he had no boat, nor any chance of acquiring one. At home, he looked over his sum total of worldly possessions. There was four dollars and twenty cents in the savings-bank. He had a nickel and two dimes in his pocket. Also, he owned a silver watch, of little value, as most of its works were missing. There was a penknife, which he had bought after much careful deliberation, and there was—well, little else save rubbish, worth nothing when it came to a question of raising enough money to buy a boat suitable for Holden’s Ferry.
“Holden’s Ferry!” Jack repeated aloud, smiling a little at the sound. The name had an agreeable ring to it. It would be fun. And at the same time it might be fairly profitable fun.
In the evening, when his father returned, Jack immediately introduced the subject uppermost in his thoughts.
“Dad,” he began impulsively, “how can I get a boat, twenty feet long, or something like that—one that will hold ten or a dozen people and won’t leak more than about ten buckets of water an hour.”
“Eh? What’s that?” asked Mr. Holden, in surprise.
“I’ve got an idea, and I want a boat, Dad,” replied Jack. “I thought—perhaps—somehow—”
“I wish I could buy you one, my lad,” said Mr. Holden, a trifle dejectedly, “but you’ll have to wait till my ship comes in.”
“I don’t want it for pleasure—not altogether, that is,” the boy declared.
“Not for pleasure? Then what on earth— Are you thinking of setting up in the shipping business?”