“We both lit out in such a hurry that we didn’t have time to pack our trunks,” grinned Joe. “Boggs skinned me out of sixty dollars; and as for Dick, I believe there wasn’t anything coming to him, though he put in many a year of good hard work down at Cobham’s Corner for Silas Maslin, who runs the store and the village post-office.”
“I’ve heard of him,” nodded Captain Beasley, recharging his pipe, “and I’ve heard of you, too, Master Dick, afore this,” and the skipper looked at the bright, stalwart, young runaway. “Silas Maslin, I understand, is a hard man to work for, though I reckon Nathan Boggs can give him a few points in that line. Both of ’em have wives that folks say would skin a flea for its fat. From which I judge that one’s appetite isn’t pampered at either place.”
“That’s right,” corroborated Dick. “We’ve both been through the mill and ought to know. I haven’t had such a good spread as was set before us to-night right here since I can remember, and I’ve a pretty good recollection.”
Mrs. Beasley and her daughter looked at one another in astonishment.
“Well,” said the captain’s wife, “you sha’n’t neither of you want for enough to eat as long as you are with us.”
“What are you going to do when you reach the city?” asked the captain curiously. “Got any money at all?”
“I’ve got about sixteen dollars,” replied Dick, and he told Captain Beasley by what slow and arduous means he had amassed it.
“I haven’t a red cent,” admitted Joe, making such a comical face that Florence Beasley burst out laughing.
“It’s possible I may start a bank and take Joe in as cashier,” grinned Dick.
“Not a bad idea,” smiled the skipper, “so long as it isn’t a faro bank or something of that sort.”