Keeping His Course

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Toby looked at the town clock and shook his head, trying not to appear disappointed. “I guess not this trip,” he replied.

“Better wait five minutes more,” said Arnold, “in case some one’s late, you know.”

But Toby shook his head resolutely. “They’ve got to be on time if they’re coming with me. This ferry sails right on the hour. Cast off that line, Arn, will you?”

And so, after all, the Urnove made its first trip, if not without passengers, at least without profit. But when she was out of the harbor, with the waves slapping at her bow and the fresh breeze ruffling damp hair, both boys forgot to be downcast and they had a very merry sail across the smiling blue water. They tied up at the little spindly pier at Johnstown promptly at eleven-twenty and waited. Now and then, ostensibly to get the cooler breeze above, Toby climbed to the pier. The approach to it was in sight for a couple of hundred yards and always, before returning to the float, Toby’s gaze wandered anxiously and longingly up the road. But eleven-thirty came without a passenger and the Urnove cast off again and began her homeward voyage. By that time Toby was frankly despondent, and he had little to say on the way back. It was becoming painfully evident that the Johnstown ferry was not to be a financial success!

But when he got home for dinner—Arnold had resisted the temptation to accept Toby’s invitation and had chugged back to the Head in the Frolic—the gloom was slightly illumined by a letter which Phebe put in his hand. Toby had almost forgotten Mr. Whitney, but the letter corrected that, for it announced that the contractor would be at the landing the next morning at eight to be carried over to Johnstown. Toby’s face brightened. Mr. Whitney would pay three dollars! Then he recalled the fact that he had decided that Mr. Whitney was to pay the same as others, and his countenance fell again. Still, if the contractor arrived at eight it would mean a special trip, and a special trip was a different matter! He determined to lay the question before Arnold after dinner, being, of course, quite certain of Arnold’s decision! But that letter cheered him up and he had no difficulty in eating a very satisfactory meal, and felt a whole lot better after it.

Phebe made the trip across with them at two, and again at four, and if it hadn’t been that Toby was horribly disappointed over the absence of patronage they’d have had a pretty good time. Even as it was they enjoyed it. Between trips they sat, the three of them, in a shady and breezy corner of the boat yard, from where, by craning their necks a bit, they could see the town landing, and tried to decide on a name for the knockabout. They canvassed every name they had ever heard of or could think of, but none seemed to please Arnold. Toby at last told him he was too hard to suit.

“There aren’t any more names, I guess,” he said. “Not unless you get a city directory and go through it. I think Slap-Dash is the best. Don’t you, Phebe?”

“I like Foam better. It’s prettier.”

“Girls,” said Toby sententiously, “always want something pretty. Gee, I’ll bet there are eighty-eleven million boats called Foam!”