Grit. Alger Horatio Jr.
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Grit Morris?" gasped Phil.
"Yes, why not?"
"A boy like him!"
"Why, wouldn't he behave well?"
"Oh, I suppose he would, but he isn't in our circle."
"Then it's a pity he isn't. He's the most agreeable boy I have met in Chester."
"You say that only to provoke me."
"No, I don't. I mean it."
"I won't invite him," said Phil doggedly. "I am surprised that you should think of such a thing."
"Propriety, Miss Marion, propriety!" said the young lady, in a tone of mock dignity, turning up the whites of her eyes. "That's just the way my governess used to talk. It's well I've got so experienced a young gentleman to look after me, and see that I don't stumble into any impropriety."
Meanwhile, Grit sat in his boat, waiting for a return passenger, and as he waited he thought of the young lady he had just ferried over.
"I can't see how such a fellow as Phil Courtney can have such a nice cousin," he said to himself. "She's very pretty, too! She isn't stuck-up, like him. I hope I shall get the chance of rowing them back."
He waited about ten minutes, when he saw a gentleman and a little boy approaching the river.
"Are you the ferry-boy?" asked the gentleman.
"Yes, sir."
"I heard there was a boy who would row me across. I want to go to Chester with my little boy. Can you take us over?"
"Yes, sir; I shall be happy to do so."
"Are you ready to start?"
"Yes, sir, just as soon as you get into the boat."
"Come, Willie," said the gentleman, addressing his little boy, "won't you like to ride over in the boat?"
"Oh, yes, papa," answered Willie eagerly.
"I hope you are well acquainted with rowing, and careful," said Mr. Jackson, for this was his name. "I am rather timid about the water, for I can't swim."
"Yes, sir, I am as much at home on the water as on the land. I've been rowing every day for the last three years."
The gentleman and his little boy sat down, and Grit bent to his oars.
CHAPTER IV.
A BOY IN THE WATER
Mr. Jackson was a slender, dark-complexioned man of forty, or thereabouts. He was fashionably dressed, and had the air of one who lives in a city. He had an affable manner, and seemed inclined to be social.
"Is this your business, ferrying passengers across the river?" he asked of Grit.
"Yes, sir," answered the young boatman.
"Does it pay?" was the next inquiry—an important one in the eyes of a city man.
"Yes, sir; I make more in this way than I could in any other."
"How much, for instance?"
"From five to seven dollars. Once—it was Fourth of July week—I made nearly ten dollars."
"That is a great deal more than I made at your age," said Mr. Jackson.
"You look as if you made more now," said Grit, smiling.
"Yes," said the passenger, with an answering smile. "I am afraid I couldn't get along on that sum now."
"Do you live in the city?" asked Grit, with a sudden impulse.
"Yes, I live in what I regard as the city. I mean New York."
"It must be a fine place," said the young boatman thoughtfully.
"Yes, it is a fine place, if you have money enough to live handsomely. Did you ever hear of Wall Street?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am a Wall Street broker. I commenced as a boy in a broker's office. I don't think I was any better off than you at your age—certainly I did not earn so much money."
"But you didn't have a mother to take care of, did you, sir?"
"No; do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are a good boy to work for your mother. My poor boy has no mother;" and the gentleman looked sad. "What is your name?"
"Grit."
"Is that your real name?"
"No, sir, but everybody calls me so."
"For a good reason, probably. Willie, do you like to ride in the boat?"
"Yes, papa," answered the little boy, his bright eyes and eager manner showing that he spoke the truth.
"Grit," said Mr. Jackson, "I see we are nearly across the river. Unless you are due there at a specified time, you may stay out, and we will row here and there, prolonging our trip. Of course, I will increase your pay."
"I shall be very willing, sir," said Grit. "My boat is my own, and my time also, and I have no fixed hours for starting from either side."
"Good! Then we can continue our conversation. Is there a good hotel in Chester?"
"Quite a good one, sir. They keep summer boarders."
"That was the point I wished to inquire about. Willie and I have been staying with friends in Portville, but they are expecting other visitors, and I have a fancy for staying a while on your side of the river—that is, if you live in Chester."
"Yes, sir; our cottage is on yonder bluff—Pine Point, it is called."
"Then I think I will call at the hotel, and see whether I can obtain satisfactory accommodations."
"Are you taking a vacation?" asked Grit, with curiosity.
"Yes; the summer is a dull time in Wall Street, and my partner attends to everything. By and by I shall return, and give him a chance to go away."
"Do people make a great deal of money in Wall Street?" asked Grit.
"Sometimes, and sometimes they lose a great deal. I have known a man who kept his span of horses one summer reduced to accept a small clerkship the next. If a broker does not speculate, he is not so liable to such changes of fortune. What is your real name, since Grit is only a nickname?"
"My real name is Harry Morris."
"Have you any brothers or sisters?"
"No, sir; I am an only child."
"Were you born here?"
"No, sir; I was born in Boston."
"Have you formed any plans for the future? You won't be a boatman all your life, I presume?"
"I hope not, sir. It will do well enough for the present, and I am glad to have such a chance of earning a living for my mother and myself; but when I grow up I should like to go to the city, and get into business there."
"All the country boys are anxious to seek their fortune in the city. In many cases they would do better to stay at home."
"Were you born in the city, sir?" asked Grit shrewdly.
"No; I was born in the country."
"But you didn't stay there."
"No; you have got me there. I suppose it was better for me to go to the city, and perhaps it may be for you; but there is no hurry. You wouldn't have a chance to earn six dollars a week in the city, as you say you do here. Besides, it would cost much more for you and your mother to live."
"I suppose so, sir. I am contented to remain where I am at present."
"Is your father dead?"
"Yes, sir."
"It is a great loss. Then your mother is a widow?"
"I wish she were," said Grit hastily.
"But she must be, if your father is dead," said Mr. Jackson.
"No, sir; she married again."
"Oh, there is a stepfather, then? Don't you