THE YOUNG BRIDGE-TENDER

"The man was thrown overboard by the accident." See [page 17.]

THE

Young Bridge-Tender

OR

Ralph Nelson's Upward Struggle

BY

ARTHUR M. WINFIELD

AUTHOR OF

"The Young Bank Clerk," "Mark Dale's Stage Venture,"
"Rover Boys Series," etc.

NEW YORK AND LONDON

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1902

By STREET & SMITH

CONTENTS

THE YOUNG BRIDGE TENDER.

CHAPTER I.

A QUESTION OF PROPERTY.

"It's a shame, mother! The property belonged to father and the village has no right to its use without paying for it."

"I agree with you, Ralph," replied Mrs. Nelson. "But what are we to do in the matter?"

"Why don't you speak to Squire Paget? He is the president of the village board."

"I have spoken to him, but he will give me no satisfaction. He claims that the village has the right to nearly all the water front within its limits," replied Mrs. Nelson, with a sigh.

"It hasn't a right to the land father bought and paid for."

"That is what I said."

"And what did he answer to that?" questioned Ralph Nelson, with increasing interest.

"He said he doubted if your father had really bought the land. He asked me to show him the papers in the case."

"And those you haven't got."

"No, I cannot find them. Your father placed them away, and when he died so suddenly, he said nothing about where they had been placed. I have an idea he gave them to somebody for safe keeping."

"It's a pity we haven't the papers, mother. The property on which this end of the swinging bridge rests, and the land right around it, is going to be very valuable some day; I heard Mr. Hooker say so at the post office only yesterday."

"I have no doubt of it, Ralph, when Westville becomes a city instead of a village. But that is many years off, I imagine."

"I suppose it is—the village folks are so slow to make improvements. It's a wonder they ever put up the bridge across to Eastport."

"They wouldn't have done it had it not been for Eastport capitalists, who furnished nearly all of the money."

"And now, that the bridge has been up several years, and the tolls are coming in daily, I suppose they are glad they let the structure go up."

"To be sure. Folks like to see a paying improvement."

"Well, about this property business, mother; do you think we can find those missing papers?" went on Ralph, after a pause.

"I am sure I hope so, my son. But where to start to look for them, I haven't the least idea."

"We might advertise for them."

"Yes, we might, but I doubt if it would do any good. If any one around here had them they would give them to us without the advertising."

"They would unless they hoped to make something out of it," replied Ralph, suddenly, struck with a new idea.

"Make something, Ralph? What do you mean."

"Perhaps the one holding the papers intends to keep them and some day claim the land as his own."

"Oh, I do not believe any one would be so dishonest," cried Mrs. Nelson.

"I do, mother. There are just as mean folks in Westville as anywhere else."

"But they would not dare to defraud us openly."

"Some folks would dare do anything for money," replied Ralph Nelson, with a decided nod of his curly head.

Ralph was the only son of his widowed mother. His father, Randolph Nelson, had been in former years a boatman on Keniscot Lake. When the swinging bridge had been built between Westville and Eastport, Mr. Nelson had been appointed bridge tender.

The old boatman had occupied his position at the bridge, taking tolls and opening the structure for passing vessels for exactly two years. Then, one blustery and rainy day he had slipped into the water, and before he could manage to save himself, had been struck by the bow of a steamboat and seriously hurt.

Mr. Nelson had been taken from the water almost immediately after being wounded, and all that could be done was done for him, but without avail. He was unconscious, and only came to himself long enough to bid his weeping wife and only child a tender farewell. Thirty-six hours after the accident he was dead, and his funeral occurred three days later.

For a time Mrs. Nelson and Ralph were nearly prostrated by the calamity that had taken place. But stern necessity soon compelled them to put aside their grief. Although Mr. Nelson owned a small cottage close to the bridge, he had left but a small amount—less than a hundred dollars—in cash behind him. They must work to support themselves.

Ralph's father had been appointed bridge tender for a period of three years, and the son applied for the balance of his parent's term. His application was objected to by Squire Paget, who wished to put Dan Pickley, a village idler, in the place, but the bridge board overruled him, and Mrs. Nelson was appointed to fill her husband's situation—every one knowing that Ralph was to do the work.

The pay was not large—only six dollars per week—but, as the Nelsons had no rent to pay, they managed to get along quite comfortably. There was a vegetable garden attached to the cottage, and during his spare time Ralph worked in this. His mother also took in sewing, and they had now saved sixty dollars for a rainy day.

Westville and Eastport were situated on the two sides of a narrow channel which united Big Silver Lake, sometimes called Keniscot Lake, on the north with Silver Lake on the south. The upper lake was several miles long, while the lower sheet of water, which emptied into the Ramapo River at Chambersburgh, was less than half the size.

Westville had always been a backward town, due mostly to the short-sightedness of Squire Paget, Mr. Hooker, the postmaster, and other narrow-minded leading men, who never saw fit to offer any inducements to manufacturers and others to locate there. The village consisted of half-a-dozen stores, a blacksmith shop, a tavern, and less than seventy-five houses. There was one hat factory there, but this was closed more than half the time.

Eastport, on the other hand, was booming. It had two hat factories, three planing mills, a furniture works and a foundry. There were several blocks of stores, lit up at night by electric lights, and several hundred houses. Real estate, too, was advancing rapidly.

The Nelsons had owned their cottage and the land upon which it stood for many years, but a year previous to the building of the bridge Mr. Nelson had added nearly half an acre to his ground, purchasing it very cheaply from a fellow-boatman, who had left Westville and struck out for some place in the West. This was the ground which was now in dispute. The papers in reference to it were missing, and as the sale had never been recorded, it was likely that Mrs. Nelson and Ralph would have much trouble in obtaining their rights.

CHAPTER II.

THE SMASH AT THE BRIDGE.

During the conversation recorded above, Ralph had been at work in the dooryard of the cottage, while his mother was busy tying up the honeysuckle vines which grew over the porch. It was a bright summer day, with a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest.

"There's a sloop coming up Silver Lake, Ralph!" cried his mother, presently, as she looked across the water from the cottage porch. "I guess you will have to open the bridge."

"I haven't heard any horn," returned Ralph, as he dropped his rake and ran up to look at the craft.

"Nor I. But the boat is heading for the draw."

"Perhaps it's one of those summer-boarder pleasure parties, that don't know anything about blowing for a bridge tender," said the son, after a few seconds of silence. "I'll go down and make sure."

Ralph was as good as his word. Leaving the door, he walked rapidly along a footpath which led directly to the bridge, arriving there in less than a minute and a half.

As he walked on the bridge a carriage from Eastport, containing several ladies, came over. They paid the toll to Bob Sanderson, an old man who helped Ralph in this way during the slack hours of the day. In return for the work Sanderson was allowed an attic room and board at the Nelson cottage.

"Sixteen cents since you went away, Ralph," said Sanderson, as he handed over the amount in pennies. "Ain't many folks out this morning."

"There will be more toward noon, Mr. Sanderson. Travel is always light between nine and eleven."

"That's so. My! but there's a stiff breeze a-blowin', ain't there?"

"Yes. If it keeps on we'll have a regular gale by night."

"What brought you back so soon? I thought you was goin' to whitewash your side fence?"

"I came down to see if that sloop wanted to go through. It's sailing right for the draw."

"They didn't blow no horn."

"Perhaps they don't know enough for that. I declare! What's he up to now?" went on Ralph, a second later.

He had espied a single man standing in the stern of the sloop. The man had commenced to work at the mainsail, the managing of which appeared to bother him not a little.

"He don't seem to know the ropes," returned Bob Sanderson. "I guess he's tryin' to lower sail and can't."

"He is carrying too much canvas for this breeze."

"I agree with you, Ralph. But most of them chaps with sloops are a daring set. They always want to sail at racing speed."

"He wants to go through that draw, that's certain," responded Ralph.

Going into the little house at the end of the bridge, he got out the key and the handle-bar. He unlocked the chain which held the end of the bridge in position, and then inserting the bar into the turnpost or capstan, began to walk around with it.

Slowly but surely the bridge began to swing loose from the side which connected with the permanent portion on the Eastport end and moved toward the solid foundation which was built directly in front of where the Nelson dooryard ran down to the water's edge.

It was hard work to move the bridge around, but Ralph was used to it, and he did not mind. As he walked around with the bar before him he kept his eyes on the sloop and the man sailing her.

The bridge was three-quarters open when the boy noted with some surprise that the man on the sloop had thrown over the mainsail half against the wind. Instantly the sloop began to swing around, heading full for the stone pier upon which the bridge swung.

"Why, what's the matter with him?" he cried, in dismay.

"Guess he don't know how to manage his boat," replied Bob Sanderson. "He's comin' chuck-a-block for this place!"

"Hi! hi! what are you up to?" cried Ralph, as he dropped the bar, and rushed over to the side of the bridge. "Do you want to run into the stonework?"

"I can't manage the sail!" replied the man on the sloop. "My arm is lame, and the ropes are all twisted."

"Well, throw your tiller over, and be quick, or——"

Ralph had not time to say more, nor was the man able to profit by his advice. An extra heavy puff of wind caught the mainsail of the boat, and with a loud crash she clashed into the stone pier, bow first.

The shock was so great that the bowsprit was smashed to pieces, as was also the woodwork around it. The man, who had been standing partly on the stern sheets, was thrown overboard by the accident, and he disappeared beneath the water.

Fearful that the fellow, who was evidently a city person, might not be able to swim, Ralph leaped down from the bridge into the sloop and went to his assistance.

"Save me! save me!" called out the man, frantically, and he threw his hands up over his head.

"Catch hold of the boathook," replied Ralph, and he reached out with the article as he spoke.

The man grasped the curved iron nervously, and Ralph at once drew him to the side of the sloop.

"Now give me your hand and I will help you up."

And without waiting he caught the man by the right arm.

"Don't! don't! Take the other arm, please! That was broken less than six weeks ago."

"Oh, then give me the left," replied Ralph; and by his aid the man was soon aboard the sloop once more.

He was a fellow not over twenty-five years of age, and his clothing and general appearance indicated that he was well-to-do.

"Phew! But that was a narrow escape!" he ejaculated, as he brushed the water from his face. "I was afraid I was a goner, sure!"

"Couldn't you keep away from the stonework?" questioned Ralph, curiously.

"No. The ropes got twisted into a knot and my right arm hurt so I could only use my left hand. Besides, I am not much of a sailor."

"I seen you wasn't," put in Bob Sanderson, who did not hesitate at times to speak out bluntly. "If it hadn't been for Ralph you would have been drowned."

"I don't doubt it, for I cannot swim."

"How came you to be out in such a blow and all alone?" asked Ralph, as he began to lower the ship's sails.

"It didn't blow so when I started from Chambersburgh, and I fancied I could manage the Magic without half trying. But I have found out my mistake now," and the man gave a sorry little laugh. "Are you the bridge tender?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your name?"

"Ralph Nelson."

"Mine is Horace Kelsey. You are rather young for this position, are you not?"

"It was my father's before he died. I am serving the rest of the time for which he was appointed."

"I see. Does it pay you?"

"I earn six dollars a week at it. That's considered pretty good here in Westville. There are many who would like to get the job."

"I came up here from New York to spend a few weeks boating and fishing," said Horace Kelsey, during a pause, in which he dried off his face and hands, and wrung the water from his coat. "This is my first day out, and it has ended rather disastrously."

"I guess your sloop can easily be repaired," replied Ralph.

"I suppose it can. Is there any one here in the village who does such work?"

"That's in my line," put in Bob Sanderson, promptly.

"Yes, Mr. Sanderson repairs boats," replied Ralph. "He will give you a good job at a reasonable price."

"Then you can go to work at once," said Horace Kelsey, turning to the old fisherman. "Do your best, and I will pay whatever it is worth."

"I will, sir."

"When can you have the work completed?"

"Not before to-morrow night. I'll have to paint the parts, you know."

"I am in no hurry. I wished to spend a day or two around Westville and Eastport before going up into Big Silver Lake."

"Then I'll take the sloop around to my boat-house right now," replied Bob Sanderson; and off he went with the craft, leaving Ralph and the newcomer on the bridge.

CHAPTER III.

RALPH MAKES A FRIEND.

"You'll catch cold if you stand around in this wind," remarked Ralph to Horace Kelsey, "especially as you are not used to it."

"That is true," returned the young man. "I wish I had some place where I might dry myself."

"You can go over to our cottage, if you wish. Mother is at home, and she will willingly let you dry yourself at the kitchen fire. I would lend you one of my suits, but I imagine it wouldn't be large enough."

"Hardly," laughed the young man. "Do you live far from here?"

"No, sir; that is the cottage right there. See, my mother is in the garden, looking this way."

"Thanks, I'll take up with your kind offer. I am beginning to get chilled in spite of the sunshine."

Saying that he would be back later, Horace Kelsey left the bridge and took the path leading to the cottage. Ralph saw him speak to his mother, and a moment later both passed into the cottage.

It was now drawing toward noon, and the people began to cross the bridge in both directions, on their way to dinner. Each one either paid a cent or passed over a ticket, sixty-five of which could be had for fifty cents. At a quarter to one the same passengers began to go back to their work, and this was kept up for half an hour, at the end of which the young bridge tender had collected twenty-one cents and forty-three tickets.

Several horns now began to blow from both Big Silver and Silver Lakes, showing that the boats wished to pass through the draw. The bridge, which had been closed by Ralph immediately after the rescue of Horace Kelsey, was opened for their accommodation.

While the young bridge tender was waiting for the last vessel to clear the draw the young man from New York came back from the cottage, bringing with him the lunch Mrs. Nelson usually brought herself. There was no time for dinner during the middle of the day, and so the family had their principal meal at night, when the draw was closed for the day, and Bob Sanderson went on to collect the toll.

"Your mother gave me the lunch," said Horace Kelsey, as he handed the basket to Ralph. "I told her I was coming down to see you."

"Is your clothing dry?"

"Oh, yes. She was kind enough to lend me some which had belonged to your father, and built up an extra hot fire to dry my own. She also pressed out my suit, as you can see. Your mother is a very accommodating lady."

Horace Kelsey did not add that he had paid Mrs. Nelson liberally for her kindness, for he was not one to brag in that direction. Nevertheless, Ralph heard of it later on.

In the basket were several sandwiches of cold corned beef and half-a-dozen peaches. Ralph offered one of the peaches to the young man, which he took, and both sat down to eat.

"You will find a tavern up the main road, a two minutes' walk from here," began the youth, thinking that Horace Kelsey might wish for something more substantial in the way of food.

"Thank you, but your mother supplied me with a very good lunch while I was waiting, Ralph," returned the young man. "Don't mind me, but go ahead and enjoy your lunch."

Ralph at once set to, for he was hungry. His companion looked up the lake for a moment in silence, and then went on:

"I came down here to reward you, Ralph," he said, hesitatingly.

"Reward me? What for, Mr. Kelsey?"

"For saving my life."

"I don't think I did as much as that. Anybody could have pulled you from the water."

"They might not have been as quick as you were. I feel I owe you something for your prompt aid."

"I don't want anything, sir. I would have done as much for any one."

"I do not doubt it, and it is to your credit to say so. But I feel I ought to do something for you. Will you accept this—not as payment for what was done, for I could not pay for that in this way—but as a gift from a friend?"

And Horace Kelsey drew from his vest pocket a new and crisp twenty-dollar bill.

"I don't see as I ought to take it," hesitated Ralph.

"But you will. Here, don't let it blow overboard," and the young man from New York thrust it into Ralph's hand, directly between a sandwich he was holding.

"Indeed I won't let it blow away. I thank you ver—hallo! you have made a big mistake."

"How?"

"This is a twenty-dollar bill."

"I see no mistake about that," and Horace Kelsey smiled quietly.

"You don't mean to say you meant to give me twenty dollars?"

"I did. It is little enough for such a service."

"It's too much. I thought it was a one-dollar bill, sir."

"I would not be mean enough to offer you only a dollar, Ralph. A man isn't pulled from a watery grave, as the poets call it, every day."

"I don't think I ought to take all this money," returned the young bridge tender slowly.

"I do, so put it into your pocket and say no more about it."

Ralph continued to argue the point, but was finally persuaded to place the bill in his private purse.

"Your mother has been telling me a little about your family affairs," went on Horace Kelsey. "It's a pity you haven't a clear title to this land about here."

"We have a clear enough title if only we can find the papers in this case," returned Ralph, promptly.

"I understand a syndicate from Chambersburgh are thinking of locating a big shoe factory here. If they do that, Westville will have a boom."

"It would have boomed long ago if it hadn't been for Squire Paget and some others. They hold their land so high and keep the taxes on the hat factory up so, the manufacturers are scared away."

"That is true, especially when other places donate them land free and exempt them from all taxation for from five to ten years."

"Do they do that?"

"Certainly, and in many cases it pays very well, for the factories employ hundreds of hands, who receive fair wages, and that is spent in the place where it is earned."

"It's a wonder that shoe factory would come here, if such inducements are offered elsewhere," said Ralph, thoughtfully.

"I understand several men, including Squire Paget and the postmaster of this place, have received stock in the concern. I do not know much about the deal. I only heard it talked over at the hotel."

"Where are they going to locate the factory?"

"Somewhere along the water front, I believe."

"Then it will be around here!" cried Ralph. "That is our land over there," he pointed with his hand. "I wish we could prove our title to it."

"So do I, Ralph, and I wish I could help you. You haven't any idea who had the papers last?"

"No, sir."

"Too bad. I would advertise for them, and even offer a reward for them."

"I will," returned Ralph, quickly. "I'll use this twenty dollars you have given me for that very purpose."

Horace Kelsey remained with Ralph the best part of an hour longer, and then started for a walk through the village, stating that he would call on Bob Sanderson and see how the boat repairing was progressing.

When he was out of sight, Ralph pulled the twenty-dollar bill from his purse to make sure that he had not been dreaming. But there was the money true enough. There was a grease spot on one corner of the bill, left by the butter on the sandwich, but this did no harm.

"Hallo, there, Ralph Nelson, counting your fortune!" cried a rude voice from the shore, and looking up, Ralph saw a loudly-dressed youth approaching. He hastily slipped the twenty-dollar bill into his pocket.

CHAPTER IV.

THE QUARREL ON THE BRIDGE.

The boy on the shore was Percy Paget, the squire's only son. He was a year older than Ralph, and somewhat taller and heavier. His ways were arrogant to the last degree, and in the village he had but few friends, and these only because he generally had pocket money to spend.

On several occasions Ralph had had sharp words with Percy because the latter wished to do as he pleased on the bridge, against the printed rules that were posted up. Because his parent was squire, Percy imagined he could do almost anything and it would be all right.

"I say, are you counting your fortune?" repeated Percy, throwing as much of a sneer into his tones as possible.

"Unfortunately, I haven't any fortune to count, Percy," returned the young bridge tender, good-naturedly.

"Humph! I suppose you mean that for a pun, don't you?" growled the son of the squire. "If you do, let me tell you it's a mighty poor one."

"I hadn't intended to pun, Percy."

"I didn't think so, for you haven't the brains. Didn't I see you counting some money just now?"

"I was looking at a bank bill."

"That you got on the bridge, I suppose?"

"No; it was a bill of my own."

"Oh, I thought you had to use all the money you made here."

"I have to use the most of it. My pay isn't any too large, as you know."

"Yes, but I guess you make enough besides," returned Percy, suggestively.

"What do you mean?"

"You've got plenty of chance on the bridge, with so many odd pennies coming in."

"Do you mean to insinuate I steal the toll money?" demanded Ralph, angered at the insinuation.

"I didn't say so," sneered the other, more suggestively than ever.

"But you meant it."

"Well, what if I did?"

"It's mean of you, Percy Paget! I never stole a cent in my life!"

"It's easy enough for you to say so."

"And it's true. You must think that every one is a thief just because somebody was caught stealing tarts out of the bakery."

Ralph was angry, or he would not have spoken as he did. As Percy had been discovered taking tarts and cakes from the counters of a pastry shop in Eastport only a few weeks before, and as he had been threatened with arrest for so doing, the squire's son reddened at once.

"See here, Ralph Nelson, don't you dare to talk to me like that!" he stormed.

"I have more grounds to talk than you, Percy Paget!"

"No, you haven't, you low upstart!"

"Hold on, Percy, I am no upstart!"

"Yes, you are. What was your father? Only a poor boatman on the lakes."

"He was a hard-working man, and an honest one," returned Ralph, warmly.

"Oh, of course, and you were all next door to beggars until my father took pity on him, and gave him the job on the bridge."

"It was the committee, and not your father, who gave him the situation."

"Well, it was the same thing, for the committee have to do as my father says."

"I doubt it."

"I don't care for your opinion! I know one thing. They ought to have somebody else to mind the bridge, and perhaps they will have before long."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Ralph, in quick alarm.

"Ha! ha! I thought that would wake you up."

"Is somebody trying to undermine me?"

"You'll hear of it soon enough, never fear."

And with this parting shot, which was not without its effect, Percy started to cross the bridge.

"Hold on!" cried Ralph.

"What do you want now?"

"The toll money."

"I'm only going to the Eastport end of the bridge. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"That makes no difference. Every one who crosses the bridge has to pay toll."

"But I'm coming right back."

"I don't care if you return as soon as you strike the last plank. You have got to pay, or you can't cross," returned Ralph, firmly.

"I won't pay a cent!" blustered Percy, angrily.

"Then you can't cross."

"And who will stop me, I'd like to know?"

"I will."

"You can't do it."

"Perhaps I can. Anyway, if you don't pay I'll try. You know the rules just as well as I do."

"There ain't any fellow in Westville can stop me from going where I please!" howled the squire's son, and once more he started to walk on.

With a quick movement, Ralph stepped in front of the aristocratic bully.

"Not another step, until you pay the toll!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing their determination.

"Out of my way, you upstart!" roared Percy.

And, raising his fist, he aimed a heavy blow at Ralph's face.

The young bridge tender caught the blow on the arm, and the next moment had Percy jammed up against the iron railing to one side.

"Now, you either pay your way or go back just as quick as you can!" he said, firmly. "I want no more trouble with you."

"Let go of me!"

"Not until you promise to do one thing or the other."

"I'm not going to pay!" fumed Percy.

"Then you can't cross; that's settled."

"We'll see! Take that! and that!"

Percy began to strike out wildly. Ralph warded off most of the blows, and then upset the aristocratic bully on his back and came down on top of him. They rolled over together, and at length Percy set up a howl of pain.

"Oh, my shoulder! You have twisted it out of place!"

"Have you had enough?" demanded Ralph.

"Yes! yes!"

"Will you pay the toll?"

"I don't want to go over now."

"All right, then, you can go back to shore."

Ralph arose to his feet, and the aristocratic bully slowly followed. Several persons were coming across the bridge now, and the young bridge tender ran to collect their tolls, leaving his late antagonist to brush off his sadly-soiled clothes.

"I'll fix you for this!" cried Percy, after the passengers had passed out of hearing. "We'll see if the village will allow a ruffian like you to tend bridge much longer."

And off he stalked, with his face full of dark and bitter hatred.

Ralph looked after him anxiously. Would Percy's threat amount to anything? It would be a real calamity to lose his situation on the bridge.

Then Ralph started to brush off his own clothes. While he was doing so he felt in his pocket to see if his twenty dollars was still safe. The bill was gone!

With great eagerness he began a search for the missing banknote. It was all to no purpose, the money could not be found.

CHAPTER V.

A HUNT FOR THE MISSING BILL.

Ralph was deeply chagrined to think that the twenty-dollar bill could not be found. He had calculated that with it he might advertise for the missing papers, and even offer a small reward.

He was loath to give up the search, and after his first hasty hunt, went over every foot of the plank walk of the bridge, and even under it.

"It must have slipped from my pocket, and the wind must have blown it into the water," he thought, bitterly. "That was a pretty dear quarrel, especially as it was not in the least of my making."

Thinking he might possibly find the bill floating on the water, the young bridge tender sprang into his rowboat, the Martha, which was tied up to the ironwork under the bridge, and pulled around the stonework and some distance down into Silver Lake.

He found nothing, and inside of ten minutes had to go back to his post of duty and collect toll from several people who were coming over from Eastport.

"I'm out twenty dollars, and that's all there is to it," he muttered to himself. "It's too bad. Why can't Percy Paget stay away and mind his own business?"

The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly, saving for the mild excitement of the working folks going and coming after factory hours, and at dark Bob Sanderson came on duty.

"The sloop is gettin' on finely," said the old fellow, in response to Ralph's inquiry. "The woodwork is about done, and I'll paint her first thing in the morning."

"You want to make a first-class job of it, Mr. Sanderson. I know Mr. Kelsey will pay the price."

"I'm a-going to, Ralph. What did he give you for hauling him from the water?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Shoo! He must be rich."

"I imagine he is."

"What are you going to do with the money?"

"Nothing; I've lost it."

"Lost it?"

"Yes."

And Ralph related the particulars of his encounter with Percy Paget, and how the money had disappeared during the fracas.

"It's a tarnal shame, Ralph! Thet air dude ain't worth your twenty-dollar bill nohow!"

"I am sorry he came here. I hope he stays away hereafter."

"I wouldn't take none of his talk," grumbled Bob Sanderson, with a shake of his grizzled head. "I reckon what he said about gettin' you into trouble is all nonsense."