“I’m blest if that don’t look like young Harry Brackett,” exclaimed Captain Sam. “It is, as sure as you’re alive. Ahoy, don’t you want a tow, there?”
But the boy, turning his head in the direction of the Nancy Jane, shook his head mournfully, and resumed his rowing.
“Well, you don’t have ter,” was Captain Sam’s comment.
Harry Brackett, sore, sleepless, and weary, had his own reasons for not wishing to face the captain.
One week later, Jack Harvey, sitting on the step of Rob Dakin’s store, received a letter. He opened and read:
“My dear Jack:—I’ve won the lawsuit and you shall have some money as soon as things are settled. I wonder how you have got along this summer. Too bad to cut you off, but I’ll make it up to you by and by. Let me know how much money you need.
“Affectionately,
“Your father,
“William Harvey.”
For once in his life, Jack Harvey was prompt with an answer. This is what he wrote:
“Dear Dad:—Glad you won. Much obliged for offering me the money. I don’t need it. I’ve been earning some, and if you want some ready money I’ll lend you twenty-five dollars.
“Affectionately,
“Your son,
“Jack.”
They were all aboard the yacht Viking, one evening not long after—Henry Burns and Jack Harvey, the crew, Tom and Bob, and the Warren boys.
“Fellows,” said Harvey, “Henry’s got us all together to tell us a secret—something he’s discovered, he says. Come on, Henry, out with it.”