Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 15

Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 15

The barkeeper hesitated.

 

"My orders are not to sell on credit," he said.

 

"Who wants you to sell on credit?" asked Brandon haughtily.

 

"You had no money last night."

 

"I've got some now. What do you say to that?" and he displayed the

five-dollar bill he had received from Phil Courtney.

 

"That alters the case," said the barkeeper complaisantly. "Your money is

as good as anybody's."

 

"I should say so. Give me another."

 

When Brandon left the barroom, he had spent a dollar, having drunk

himself and treated others.

 

"Wonder if Grit has found out about his boat?" he said to himself, with

a waggish smile, as he walked homeward with unsteady steps. "Serves the

boy right for treating me so disrespectfully."

 

It was not much out of his way to go down to the margin of the river,

and he did so. It happened that, as he reached it, Grit had just arrived

from Portville with a second load of passengers. Fortune, as if to

compensate him for his loss of a boat, had brought him an unusual number

of passengers, so that he had already earned a dollar.

 

When Brandon saw Grit engaged in his usual avocation, he opened wide his

eyes in surprise.

 

"Has the boy got his boat back again?" he asked himself.

 

He was not familiar with the appearance of the boat, and the name had

slipped from his recollection. Then, also, Jesse's boat looked very much

like Grit's.

 

When the passengers had walked away Brandon took measures to gratify his

curiosity.

 

"Where did you get that boat, Grit?" he asked.

 

"Ah, it's you, is it?" said Grit, seeing his stepfather for the first

time. "What business had you to sell my boat, Mr. Brandon?"

 

"Ain't I your stepfather, I'd like to know?" retorted Brandon.

 

"I am sorry to say you are," answered Grit; "but that doesn't give you

any authority to steal and sell my boat."

 

"Don't you dare to charge me with stealin', you--you young puppy!"

exclaimed Brandon, indignantly. "If you had behaved as you ought to me,

I wouldn't have meddled with your boat."

 

"I understand you, Mr. Brandon. Because I wouldn't give you the money

that I need to support my mother, you meanly and maliciously plot to

take away my means of living."

 

"You wouldn't give me your money to take care of for you."

 

"You take care of my money for me!" returned Grit disdainfully. "I know

very well how you would take care of it. You've already spent a part of

the five dollars you received for stolen property at the tavern, and the

result is that you can't walk straight."

 

"You lie! I can walk as straight as you!" said Brandon, and proceeded to

prove it by falling against a tree, and recovering his equilibrium with

difficulty.

 

"I see you can," said Grit sarcastically.

 

"Of course I can. Where did you get that boat? Is it the same----"

 

"The same you stole from me? No, it isn't."

 

"Have you bought it?" inquired Brandon, with a cunning look.

 

"No, I haven't, and I don't intend to buy another boat for you to sell.

I have borrowed it of my friend, Jesse Burns."

 

Mr. Brandon looked disappointed. He had thought the new boat would prove

a second bonanza, and he was already considering whether he could find

another purchaser for it.

 

"Have you made much money this mornin', Grit?" next inquired Brandon,

changing the conversation.

 

"I decline to tell you," answered Grit shortly.

 

"Grit, you don't seem to reflect that I am your stepfather, and set in

authority over you."

 

"I am not very likely to forget that I have a stepfather I am ashamed

of," said Grit.

 

"This is unkind, Grit," said Brandon, in a voice tremulous with maudlin

sentiment. "Because I've been unfortunate, and have been shut out from

all enjoyment for five years, you mock and insult me when I get home and

pine for domestic happiness."

 

"If you would behave decently, you wouldn't be reminded of the past,"

said Grit. "But how is it? You haven't been home but twenty-four hours,

and have already borrowed all the money mother had, and have sold my

boat, to gratify your taste for rum. There may be more contemptible men

in the world, but I never met with one."

 

"Grit, if you talk to me in that way," said Brandon, with attempted

dignity, "I shall be under the necessity of flogging you."

 

"You'd better not try it, Mr. Brandon. I wouldn't stand still while you

were doing it. I promise you that."

 

Just then two gentlemen came down to Phil's pier, and one asked:

 

"Can you take us across to Portville?"

 

"Yes, sir," answered Grit promptly.

 

The two gentlemen got in, and Grit was about to push off, when Brandon

said:

 

"Stop, Grit; I'll go, too."

 

"You'll have to wait, Mr. Brandon," said Grit coolly, and a determined

push sent the boat out into the stream, and frustrated the design of his

stepfather.

 

"You don't want any more passengers, I see," said one of the gentlemen,

smiling.

 

"Not of that kind," answered Grit.

 

"You are right. The man had evidently been drinking, and his presence

would have been disagreeable to us."

 

When the boat reached the opposite shore, the gentleman who had engaged

him handed Grit half a dollar.

 

Grit was about to offer change, but the passenger said:

 

"No, keep the change, my lad. You'll find a use for it, I make no

doubt."

 

"After all," thought Grit, who did not forget to thank his liberal

patron, "this isn't going to be so bad a day for me."

 

Five minutes later a man with a heavy black beard and rather shabbily

attired presented himself as a passenger.

 

"I say, boy," said he, "do you know a man named Brandon that has

recently gone to Chester?"

 

"Yes," answered Grit.

 

"All right. When we get over on the other side, you can just point out

to me where he lives."