T. Tucker, Prop.
Armed with the placards, Toby and Arnold made the round of the principal stores in Greenhaven and Johnstown and saw them obligingly placed in the windows. The hotel at Johnstown was similarly honored, as was the postoffice there and in their own town. And after that they tacked the notices wherever they thought they would attract attention without entailing a penalty. The final placard—no, not the final one, either, for Arnold kept that to go up in his room at school, but the next to the last one was tacked to the side of Hawkins’ leather store at the corner of the alley that led to the landing, and, lest some one might be in doubt as to the location of the town landing, Arnold added a hand, which pointed quite dramatically down the little lane.
Long Tim put the sign in place that evening. Mr. Hawkins was very complaisant, perhaps thinking that some of the patrons of the ferry might be attracted to his stock, and gave ready permission to attach the sign to the alley side of the store so that it jutted out well over the sidewalk and was visible a block away. The boys were certain of that, because they hurried along the street to a position in front of the postoffice and looked! They spent most a quarter of an hour viewing Long Tim’s handiwork from various places at various angles, and would have stayed longer if it hadn’t got dark.
The question of paying for the privilege of using the landing was still unsettled. It had been left to Mr. Tucker, who was himself one of the selectmen, and Mr. Tucker reported that the other members of the board were unable to reach any conclusion in the matter and proposed postponing a decision until the next town meeting, which was scheduled for November. Meanwhile he advised Toby to go ahead as long as no one interfered with him, which Toby did.
Mr. Tucker, rather to Toby’s surprise, approved of the ferry enterprise warmly. “Likely,” he said, “you won’t make a pile of money, Toby, but it’ll keep you out of mischief and give you something to do. And I’m not saying it won’t pay, either. I guess there’s folks that’ll be glad to run over to Johnstown that way instead of driving to the Port and taking the train. What you going to do with all your wealth, Toby, anyhow? Maybe you’d like to buy into the business, eh?”
Toby hesitated a minute, but it seemed a very good opportunity to tell his father of his ambition to go to Yardley Hall School, and he did so. Mr. Tucker listened without comment until Toby had somewhat breathlessly finished. Then he did what was very characteristic. He pushed back an imaginary hat—the conversation took place in the cottage one evening just before bedtime—and scratched his head thoughtfully. At last:
“That’s a pile of money, son, to spend for a year’s schooling. What are you going to get out of it that you can’t get over at Johnstown? Do they teach you more things at this school you’re telling of?”
“N-no, sir, not more, exactly. Maybe they do, though, too. But it’s being at a place like that that’s the fun, Dad.”
“Fun, eh? Sure it isn’t just the fun you’re thinking of? Three or four hundred dollars is a sight of money to spend for fun!”
“I’m not thinking of only that, Dad. I—I guess I can’t explain very well, but it’s meeting other fellows and—and making friendships and learning how to—to look after myself that I’m thinking of.”