“Pretty well, sir.”
“Could do better, though, if you had power, Harry says.”
“Yes, sir, it’s hard to get around. And when there’s a calm I have to use the oars. There’s another boat selling water now—”
“So I hear. Ever think of putting an engine in yours?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve thought of it. I guess I’ll have to pretty soon.”
“I would. Now look here, Jack, here’s a proposition. Last year we piped water down to the wharves so our boats could fill their tanks right at their berths. But the town water isn’t fit to drink half the time and our skipper tells us it gets rotten after it’s been in the butts a week or two. I don’t drink it myself; we buy spring water; and I don’t believe it’s fair to ask the men to. So much for that. Now I’ve got a twenty horsepower Albany engine stored away that came out of the Bessie and May a couple of years ago. It’s in good shape; never was used much; and it isn’t doing any good where it is. Here’s my offer, Jack. You take your boat up to Collins and Haggins’ railway and I’ll have them put that engine in her and fix her up in good shape. If she needs overhauling they might as well do it. I’ll have them make a good all-around job of her; new timbers or planks where they’re needed; new stick, too, if you want. And a couple of coats of paint.”
“Why—why—” stammered Jack. “Thank you very much, Mr. Folsom, but—”
Mr. Folsom raised a protesting hand. “Wait a minute; I’m not through. Now I might do this for you and still be in your debt, my boy, but I think you’re enough like your father to refuse to let me. So I’m going to make a trade with you. That spring water of yours doesn’t cost you anything and it’s mighty fine water. Now if I do what I’ve offered to, Jack, will you serve Folsom and Company’s boats with water for a year without charge?”
“But—but that wouldn’t be fair, sir! If you said three years—or four—”