"I'm off!" yelled Sammy, waving his hand.

"Good luck!" cried Randy, pleasantly. "Don't get your head shot off."

"He may lose his head without having it shot off," remarked Mr. Thompson, who sat on the porch, with his rheumatic side in the sunshine.

"I do not think it very wise to let him go to the city alone," put in Mrs. Thompson from the kitchen.

Sammy tramped on until he came to the main highway and there waited impatiently for the stage to appear. He got a seat by the driver, and in less than an hour reached the railroad station. He had been on the cars before, yet the ride was much of a novelty.

At last the country boy found himself on the streets of Springfield. There was an extra celebration of some sort going on and great crowds flocked on every side. Poor Sammy was completely bewildered, as he was jostled first one way and then another.

"Well, by gosh! If this don't beat anything I ever see!" he ejaculated. "Where in thunder did all the folks come from, anyway?"

Sammy looked so truly rural that he attracted the attention of two street urchins who were standing close by.

"There's a greeny, I'll bet a hat!" said one of them, nudging his companion.

"A regular one and no mistake," answered the second urchin.

"Let's have a little fun out of him."

"How?"

"Just look and you'll see how I fix him."

So speaking, he took a bunch of firecrackers from his pocket and, with a pin, attached it to the tail of Sammy's coat. Then he set the bunch on fire and slipped back into the crowd.

Crack! Crack! Bang!

The plot took effect. Sammy was aroused from his reverie by explosion after explosion in his immediate rear. He started and leaped into the air in wild amazement.

"By thunder!" he gasped. "Is thet a cannon bustin'?"

The crackers continued to go off, and poor Sammy leaped around worse than ever.

"Say, mister, what's up?" he asked of a man who was laughing loudly.

"Look behind you," answered the man.

Sammy did so. One look was enough. He began to bellow like a bull and started off on a run, knocking down several people who happened to be in his way. At last a police officer stopped him.

"What do you mean by making such a disturbance?" demanded the officer.

"I'm burning up! I'm exploding! Don't you hear me?" gasped poor Sammy.

"Pooh! It's only fire-crackers," and the policeman smiled faintly.

"Take 'em off, mister, please do!" pleaded Sammy. "I'll give you ten cents for the job!"

"They are about burned out," answered the officer, as the last firecracker went off with an extra loud bang. "You are safe. Go along with you." And he waved his stick. Sammy lost no time in sneaking off. The boy who had played the trick had a good laugh and so did his companion.

Soon Sammy heard a band and saw some "Milingtary," as he called them, approaching. The sight of the soldiers with their guns awed him, yet he followed the procession to a grove, where there was more music and also speechmaking. He listened to the orations with wide-open mouth, until he suddenly lost interest when a bit of banana skin was thrown at him, landing directly in the opening.

"Wah!" he spluttered. "Who threw thet skin at me?"

He could not find the offender and so roamed around the grove, presently halting before a temporary stand filled with things to eat. He now discovered that he was tremendously hungry.

"Snathers take the expense," he muttered to himself. "I'm a-goin' to have something to eat if it breaks me." He had brought along a lunch from home, but had forgotten it on the train.

He approached the stand and looked the stock of eatables over.

"What's the price o' them bananas, mister?" he asked.

"Two cents each."

"Well, I suppose if I take two you'll let me have 'em fer three cents."

"Couldn't do it."

"Well, who cares, anyway? It's only four cents. Let me have two."

The bananas were handed over and Sammy looked for his change. But he only had two cents and a one-dollar bill.

"Can you change that?" he asked, holding out the bill.

"Certainly," answered the standkeeper, and promptly gave the youth a fifty-cent piece and a lot of small change. With his bananas in one hand and his money in another Sammy retired to a distance, to count his change and make sure it was right.

While he was buying the fruit a boy in tatters watched him eagerly. Now the boy came up to the country lad.

"Please, mister, won't you give me some money to buy bread with?" he asked, in a quivering voice.

"To buy bread with?" asked Sammy, in astonishment.

"Yes, please—I'm awful hungry."

"Ain't you had nuthin' to eat to-day?"

"Not a mouthful."

Sammy's compassion was aroused and he began to look over his change.

"Look out for that!" cried the tattered boy, looking upward suddenly.

Sammy's gaze traveled in the same direction. As his eyes went up the boy in rags grabbed the money in his hand and in an instant was making off through the crowd.

The movement was so quick, and the surprise so great, that for the moment Sammy was bereft of speech.

At length he recovered sufficiently to shout the single word at the top of his lungs:

"Constable!"

"What's the matter?" asked a policeman, running up.

"Thief! Robbery!"

"Where is the thief?"

"He ran off."

"Where? In what direction?"

"I—er—I don't know," stammered Sammy.

"What did he take?"

"Took all my money."

"How much?"

"Ninety-six cents. It ain't all—I've got two cents left."

"Well, if you can point out the thief I'll arrest him," said the policeman. "Come, we'll take a look around."

This was done, but the boy in rags could not be found.

"Drat the luck! I suppose the money is gone fer good!" groaned Sammy, and he was right. For he never saw either the boy or his cash again.

Sammy had expected to remain in the evening and see the fire-works, but now his interest in the celebration was gone.

"Hain't got but two cents left!" he groaned. "Thet won't buy no supper nor nuthin! It's lucky I've got a train ticket back. But I'll have to walk to hum from the station, unless they'll tick me fer the stage ride."

He walked around, still hoping to meet the lad who had robbed him. His perambulations presently brought him to a spot where there was a pond of water, in which some gold-fish were swimming. The gold-fish caught his eye and he paused to watch them as they darted about.

He was leaning over, looking into the pond, when some boys came along on a run. One boy shoved another and he fell up against Sammy. As a consequence the country lad lost his balance and went into the pond with a loud splash.

"Save me!" he spluttered. "I can't swim!"

"Wade out; it's only up to your middle!" sang out a man, and arising, Sammy did as directed. He was covered with mud and slime and presented anything but a nice appearance.

"This is the wust yet!" he muttered, and felt half like crying. "I ain't going to stay here no more—I'm goin' straight fer hum!"



CHAPTER XI

RANDY TO THE RESCUE

The next day Randy went over to the Borden farm to finish up his work there. To his astonishment Sammy was on hand and apparently eager to go to work.

"Well, how was the celebration, Sammy?" asked our hero.

"No good."

"That's too bad."

"After this I'm a-goin' to stay to hum on the Fourth," went on Sammy, as he began to fork over the hay vigorously. "I ain't goin' to no city to be skinned."

"Did they skin you?"

"Jest about. A feller robbed me an' I was pushed into a duck pond."

"That's too bad."

"If I hadn't a-had my train ticket I'd had to walk home," went on Sammy. "As it was, I had to borrow fifteen cents on the stage, to pay fer thet ride. No more city celebrations fer me. I kin have all I want right here at Riverport." And then Sammy related his adventures in detail, to which our hero listened with much secret amusement.

Over at the Thompson place the ground had been plowed up in part, and as soon as he left Jerry Borden Randy set to work in earnest to plant late vegetables. For what our hero had done for the Bordens he was paid in vegetables, and also received a rooster and four hens. This gave the Thompsons their own eggs, for which the lady of the cottage was thankful.

Randy was at work early one morning, when Jack appeared.

"Hullo, at it already?" sang out Jack. "I thought I'd find you still in bed."

"I prefer to work when the sun is not so hot," answered Randy. "But what brings you out at such an hour as this?"

"I've got news."

"What is it?"

"We are going to move to Albany."

"When?"

"The first of next week."

"I'll be sorry to miss you, Jack."

"And I'll be sorry to leave you, Randy. But I came over for something more than to tell the news. I want you to go fishing with me. They say the sport is extra fine just now."

"I don't know if I can go," answered our hero, doubtfully. "There is still enough to do here."

"It will be a change for you. You have worked very hard lately."

"I admit that."

"Go by all means, if you care to, Randy," called out Mrs. Thompson. "You have earned a holiday, and the fish will be acceptable."

"All right, mother; if you say so, I'll go."

It did not take Randy long to prepare for the outing. Jack had with him a basket of lunch for two, so all he had to get was his line and hooks and some extra bait.

"I hope we catch a good mess to-day," said Randy, as they started off. "Then I can give Mr. Borden some and he can let us have some bacon that we need."

"I suppose it is rather hard scratching for you just now," said Jack.

"It is, and I am going to look for outside work before long."

"Well, I hope you find something to do. Ben Bash was looking for work all over this district but he couldn't find a thing."

"Oh, I know there is small chance in Riverport. I think I may try elsewhere," answered our hero.

It did not take the two boys long to reach the river, at a point where Jack had left his boat. Both rowed to their favorite fishing spot.

"Oh, isn't that too bad!" cried Jack, in disappointment.

Strangers were fishing at the spot and they soon saw that there was no room for them to throw in.

"How is fishing?" called out Randy.

"Very good," answered one of those present.

"We'll have to go elsewhere," said Jack. "The question is, where?"

"I know another spot about quarter of a mile from here," answered Randy. "It may be just as good."

They rowed on and reached the new place, to find nobody there. Soon they had their boat tied fast to an overhanging tree and then they got out on some flat rocks and baited up.

It did not take long to prove that the new fishing place was as good as the old. Randy drew in a small fish almost immediately and Jack did the same. Then both got hauls of good size.

"Maybe we'll do better than if we went to the old Fishing Hole," observed Jack.

At noon time they knocked off for lunch and a rest and then took a good swim.

"I can tell you, I enjoy this!" cried Randy. "I haven't had a chance to go in for so long."

The swim at an end, the boys donned their garments and resumed their fishing. They kept at it until about four o'clock. Then all their luck seemed to suddenly desert them.

"Never mind," said Randy. "We certainly have a prime haul, even as it is," and he looked the fish over with much pride.

They wound up their lines and were soon on the way down the river. It was rather a hot day, so they took their time in getting back.

"What are you going to do with your boat?" asked Randy.

"Sell it to Mr. Stanwood for ten dollars."

"You are lucky to get a customer, Jack."

"I know it. I'd turn the boat over to you only—well—we need the money now, you know," and Jack's eyes dropped.

"Thank you, Jack, but I wouldn't have much time to use it. I must put in the most of my time at work."

"I suppose that is true. At the same time I'd rather you had the boat than anybody I know of."

The boys were coming around a bend of the river when they heard a peculiar noise in the distance.

"What do you make that out to be?" asked Jack, as the noise continued.

"I think I know," answered our hero. "It is the new tugboat from the bay. I saw it once, several weeks ago. It makes a very odd sound, for the engine is not like the ordinary ones."

The noise kept coming closer and presently the tugboat came into view. It was stuck in the mud and those on board were doing what they could to get the craft afloat again.

"They seem to be having a hard time of it," remarked Jack, as he stopped rowing to watch the proceedings.

"The mud is very sticky here, if you'll remember," answered Randy. "Don't you remember how we were stuck here last year?"

"Yes, and how I lost an oar overboard and nearly went overboard myself," continued Jack, with a short laugh. "Heigh-ho! Randy, I'll be sorry in a way to lose it all."

"We must write to each other."

"Of course."

The tug was puffing and snorting viciously to get out of the mud. On board were four people who were evidently passengers, including a lady with a little girl.

Suddenly there came something which sounded like an explosion. This was followed by a cloud of steam that seemed to completely envelop the tugboat.

"Something is wrong!" shouted Randy.

"Oh, mamma, I don't like this!" screamed the little girl, as she ran to the stern of the tug. "We'll be burned up!"

She had scarcely spoken when there came another explosion and the cloud of steam increased. The four passengers crowded to the stern in a body, and a moment later the two men leaped overboard and called on the lady and her child to do likewise.

"I cannot swim!" shrieked the lady.

"You must jump!" answered somebody. "The tug may blow up!"

The little girl heard this and with a scream she ran from her mother straight for the bow of the tug. The next moment she lost her balance and went overboard.

"She's over!" cried Randy, and his heart leaped into his throat.

"Save my child! Save Helen!" shrieked the lady and rushed after her offspring. Soon she was in the water also.

The situation was certainly a thrilling one. The two men in the water were fifty feet away and those left on the tug were in no position to render assistance. The child had disappeared completely, while the mother was thrashing around wildly, in water just up to her neck.

"Quick, Jack, turn the boat around!" ejaculated Randy. "We must get them on board."

The craft was turned around and headed for the lady. Then Randy threw off his cap—he was already in his shirt sleeves—and stood up in the bow. He gazed anxiously into the muddy water and caught a dim view of the little girl's white dress.

"My child! My child!" the mother continued to scream.



"I'll bring her up," said Randy, and made a leap overboard, just as the gunwale of the rowboat came within reaching distance of the lady's hands.

The little girl had been caught by the current and was being carried down the stream. Randy made a quick grab but missed her, and then she disappeared from view. But in a few seconds more he saw her again, and this time secured hold of her arm. The next moment he raised her to the surface of the river.

She was too far gone to do anything but splutter. She clutched him with a deathlike grip—a thing every person in danger of drowning will do—and he had his hands full to keep both himself and his burden afloat. Shallow water was not far off and he struck out for this and waded ashore.

In the meantime Jack was having no easy time of it getting the lady into the rowboat. There was serious danger of the craft overturning, and he had to caution her to be careful.

"My child! My Helen!" she moaned, when she was at last safe.

"My friend will save her," answered Jack.

"You are sure?"

"Yes."



CHAPTER XII

A STEAMBOAT MAN

Having saved the lady from her uncomfortable if not dangerous position, Jack lost no time in rowing for the shore. Soon he was at the river bank and the lady leaped out of the rowboat and ran to where Randy had placed his dripping burden on the grass.

"My Helen! Is she safe?" asked the lady, anxiously.

"I think so," answered our hero. "But I guess she swallowed some river water."

"Oh, how thankful I am that you went after her."

"It was the only thing to do. I saw she couldn't swim."

The little girl was still gasping for breath. The mother threw herself on the grass and did what she could for her. Soon the little girl gave a cry:

"Mamma!"

"Yes, darling, I am here!"

"Oh, dear! I am all wet!"

"Be thankful that your life has been spared."

"That boy brought me out of the water."

"Yes, dear—and he was brave to do it," answered the mother and beamed on Randy to such an extent that he had to blush.

By this time the two men had also come ashore. The steam was still blowing off on the tug but the danger appeared to be over. Later the engineer announced that a valve and a connection had broken, and the craft would have to remain where she was until towed off.

"I am glad to see you are all safe," said the man who ran the tug. "There wasn't very much danger on board."

"It looked bad enough," said one of the men who had leaped overboard. "I didn't want to get scalded."

"And neither did I," added the other.

It appeared that neither of the men knew the lady excepting by name. She was, however, fairly well known to the tug captain, and had gone up the river on the craft to please her little girl.

"I am sorry for this, Mrs. Shalley," said the tug owner. "I must say, I don't know what to do."

"I must get dry clothing on Helen pretty soon."

"The tug is wet from end to end from the escaped steam."

"If I was down at Riverport I could go to the hotel," went on Mrs. Shalley.

"We can take you down in our rowboat," said Jack. "It won't take very long."

"Can I trust myself in the boat?"

"Certainly, if you'll only sit still."

The matter was talked over, and it was decided that the lady and her little girl should be taken down to Riverport by Randy and Jack. The party was soon on the way.

"My name is Mrs. Andrew Shalley," said the lady. "My husband is a steamboat owner. May I ask your names?"

"Mine is Jack Bartlett. I live in Riverport, but I am going to move to Albany."

"And my name is Randy Thompson," added our hero. "I live over there—in the little cottage by that clump of trees."

"I am pleased to know you," said the lady. "It was more than kind of both of you to come to the assistance of myself and my daughter."

"It wasn't so much to do," answered Randy. "We were close by."

"You are soaking wet."

"It's an old working suit and I don't mind the water," laughed our hero.

"What a nice lot of fish," said little Helen, who had now completely recovered.

"I feel I should reward you both," went on Mrs. Shalley.

"I don't want anything," said Jack, promptly.

"And neither do I," added our hero.

The hotel at which the lady was stopping was built close to the river bank. Mother and child landed at the dock and Randy and Jack bade them good-by.

"I shall try to see you again," said Mrs. Shalley, as she started for the hotel.

"Evidently a very nice lady," remarked Jack, as he and Randy rowed away.

"Yes."

"I think she wanted to reward us, Randy."

"I think so myself, but I don't want any reward."

"Neither do I, although I shouldn't mind, say ten thousand dollars," went on Jack, by way of a joke.

"Or the Presidency of the United States," added Randy, in an equally light tone.

The boys had caught so many fish Randy decided to sell some from his share. He found a purchaser on the dock where they landed and started home richer by fifty cents.

"If I can't get anything else to do, I can do some fishing later on," he mused. "I can get at least two or three dollars' worth of fish a week, and that would be better than nothing—and I could keep right on with the farm, too."

When Randy returned home he had quite a story to tell, to which both his father and his mother listened with interest.

"Randy, you must be careful in the water," said Mrs. Thompson, with an anxious look in her eyes. "Supposing that girl had dragged you down?"

"I was on my guard, mother."

"Randy is a good swimmer," said his father. "I was a good swimmer myself, in my younger days."

The fish proved acceptable, and Randy readily got Jerry Borden to trade him some bacon for a mess, and also give him some fresh vegetables.

"Gosh! Wish I'd gone fishing," said Sammy. "I like to catch big fish."

"Well, I am not going to stop you," said our hero.

"Sammy never has no luck," put in Mrs. Borden. "Once he went fishing all day and all he got was three little fish."

"Didn't nuther!" cried Sammy. "I got twelve big bites, but they got away."

"It's the big fish that always get away," said Randy, with a smile. "Never mind, Sammy, maybe we can go together some day."

"I'd like that," answered the overgrown country boy.

"Did that Bartlett boy get any fish?" asked Mrs. Borden.

"Just as many as I did."

"I understand they are going to move away."

"Yes, to Albany."

"They say down to the iron works that Mr. Bangs is glad to have Mr. Bartlett out of the place."

"I guess that is true."

"It's too bad! All of the men liked Mr. Bartlett."

"Don't they like Mr. Bangs?"

"Not a bit—so Mr. Reilly was telling my husband. They say Mr. Bangs is mean to everybody."

Two days slipped by, and Randy was at work in the garden one afternoon when he saw a buggy stop at the front of the cottage and a portly man alighted. Knowing his mother was busy, our hero went to meet the newcomer.

"Is this where Randy Thompson lives?" asked the portly gentleman.

"Yes, sir, I am Randy Thompson."

"Oh!" The gentleman held out his hand. "I am glad to know you. My name is Andrew Shalley. You did my wife and little girl a great service the other day."

"I only did what seemed necessary," answered Randy, modestly. "Will you come into the house, Mr. Shalley?"

"Thanks, I'll sit down on your porch." The gentleman did so. "What are you doing, farming?"

"A little. We got this place so late this season I cannot do a great deal. Next year I hope to have the farm in much better shape."

"Do you like it?"

"I try to like it."

"Then you are not naturally a farmer?"

"No, sir."

"Is your father living?"

"Yes, sir; but he is laid up with rheumatism, so he cannot work at present. He is a carpenter."

"Indeed! I was a carpenter when I was a young man."

"I thought Mrs. Shalley said you were a steamboat owner."

"I am, now. I gave up carpentering to go into the freight business. I made money, and then bought a small freight boat. Then I branched out, and now own a steamboat running up and down the Hudson River, and I also own several steam tugs."

"Do you own the one that got into trouble the other day?"

"No, a friend of mine owns that—that is how my wife and little girl happened to be on board. I am——" Mr. Shalley stopped short as a form appeared in the doorway behind him.

"This is my mother. Mother, this is Mr. Shalley, the steamboat owner."

"I am glad to meet you," said Mrs. Thompson, politely. "Will you come in?"

"Thank you, but it is very pleasant on the porch. Madam, you have a good son," went on the steamboat owner.

"I know that."

"He did my wife and little girl a great service the other day."

"Yes, he told me what he did."

"I think—er—that is, I'd like to reward you," stammered Andrew Shalley. He saw that Randy was no common boy with whom to deal.

"Thank you, but I don't wish any reward, sir."

"I felt you would say that," answered Andrew Shalley. "The other lad said the same."

"Then you have seen Jack Bartlett?"

"Yes, I just came from there. I wanted to reward him, but he would not have it. But I fixed him," and the steamboat owner smiled broadly.

"Yes?" said Mrs. Thompson, curiously.

"I found out he was going to move to Albany, so I gave him a free pass on my steamboat, the Helen Shalley—named after my wife. Now he can go up and down the river as much as he pleases and it won't cost him a cent. I told him I'd depend upon him to haul folks out of the water if they fell overboard," and the steamboat owner laughed broadly.

"That ought to suit Jack—he loves the water so," said Randy.

"Do you like the water, too?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then maybe you'd like a pass also."

"I couldn't use it, Mr. Shalley."

"I was only joking. But really, Randy, I'd like to do something for you, to show I appreciate what you did for my wife and for Helen."

"I do not want anything, Mr. Shalley, excepting work."

"Work? I should imagine you had enough of that right here."

"I mean work that would pay me regular wages. We must have money. My father needs the doctor, and medicine, and we have to buy groceries, and such, and we can't make the farm pay the bills."

"I understand, my lad. Where is your father?"

"I am here, sir," came from the couch in the sitting room.

"May I come in, Mr. Thompson?"

"Certainly," answered the sick man, and a moment later Andrew Shalley entered the cottage and was shaking hands with Randy's father.



CHAPTER XIII

MR. SHALLEY MAKES AN OFFER

The two men conversed together for fully half an hour, and during that time Andrew Shalley learned much concerning the Thompson family and their struggle to make both ends meet.

"I live at Nyack," said Andrew Shalley. "And my headquarters for boats is there also. But the passenger steamer runs from New York City to Albany. The tugs run anywhere on the river, and on New York Bay."

"It must be a nice business," said Randy. "I like boats of any kind."

"If I had a boat on the river here I might give you a job," went on the gentleman. "But all of my craft are on the Hudson."

"They tell me that the Hudson is a grand stream."

"Nothing finer in this country, my boy, nothing finer. I have traveled all over the United States and I know. I think it is fully equal to the German Rhine and the St. Lawrence."

"Maybe you could give me a situation on one of your Hudson River boats," went on Randy, struck by a sudden idea.

"Would you care to leave home?"

"Oh, Randy, you wouldn't want to go away!" cried Mrs. Thompson.

"I would if it paid to do so," answered Randy, quickly. "There isn't much chance for work in Riverport."

"And I can keep an eye on the garden," said Mr. Thompson. "I know I am going to feel some better now this spell is passing."

"If you cared to leave home I might give you some sort of a job on one of my boats," went on Andrew Shalley, thoughtfully.

"What kind of a job?"

"I'd have to see about it first. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll send you a letter next week."

"Thank you."

"That will be best. But now I am going to do something else." The steamboat man drew out his wallet. "I want you to accept this." And he held out five crisp ten-dollar bills.

Randy did not wish to take the money, but the steamboat man urged it and finally laid the bills on the table.

"I am sure you are more than kind, Mr. Shalley," said Mrs. Thompson. "I shall remember you."

"Let us call it a loan," said Mr. Thompson, "to be paid back when I am at work once more."

"Yes, call it a loan," said Randy, "otherwise I, for one, don't want it."

"Have your way," laughed Mr. Shalley. "But don't worry about the payment."

Before he left he walked around the little farm and praised what Randy had done.

"Evidently not a lazy boy," he told himself, "and one who is willing to aid his parents. That is the sort I like."

"He is a very nice man," said Mrs. Thompson, when the visitor had departed. "Randy, you were fortunate to make such a friend."

"Yes. But, mother, I think we ought to pay back that money some day."

"I can do that—when I am able to go at carpentering again," put in Mr. Thompson.

After that a week passed quietly enough. Randy worked early and late and got the little farm in good shape and also visited Jack and bade his friend good-by.

"Maybe I'll get a position on one of the Hudson River boats," said our hero.

"If you do, and you stop at Albany, you must come and see me," answered Jack, and gave his new address.

On the following Monday came a letter from Andrew Shalley. It was short and to the point and read in part as follows:

"All I can offer you at present is the position of a deckhand on my steamboat, the Helen Shalley. If you wish to accept that I will pay you twenty dollars per month and your board at the start, and more when you are experienced. If you wish to accept, write to me and come on to Nyack, to my office."

"Here's an offer at last!" cried Randy, as he read the communication. He had been fearful that Andrew Shalley might forget him.

"Twenty dollars per month is not so very much," said his mother.

"Yes, but I am to get my board, so the money will all be clear profit, outside of the cost of my clothing."

"I suppose you will live on the boat," put in Mr. Thompson. "Most of the crew do."

"I can send the most of the money home each month," continued Randy.

"The boat won't run during the winter," said his mother, who did not much relish having her son leave home.

"Well, it will run until cold weather, anyway, and perhaps after that Mr. Shalley will give me something else to do."

The matter was discussed that evening, and before he retired, Randy penned a letter to the steamboat owner, stating he would come to Nyack two days later.

The prospects ahead filled our hero with pleasure. The new position would enable him to see a little of the world and meet other people, and he was sure steamboat life would suit him thoroughly. He knew there would be plenty of hard work, handling freight and baggage, but this did not daunt him.

"I'll try to do my best," he reasoned. "Then maybe Mr. Shalley will give me something better later on."

Randy did not have many clothes, so there was not a great deal to pack. What he possessed was gone over by his mother, and then packed in a valise. Out of the money on hand he was given the price of his stage and railroad ticket and five dollars for other expenses.

"I shan't spend only what is necessary," said he to his parents.

Randy was glad to see that his father was improving. A good deal of the rheumatic pains had left Mr. Thompson and he could get around the house and the garden. It would be some time before he could go at carpentering again, but he could aid a good deal on the farm, which was something.

All too soon for his mother came the time for Randy to depart. Mrs. Thompson kissed him affectionately and his father shook him by the hand.

"Come back home if it doesn't suit you, Randy," said the mother.

"Yes, come back, and we'll get along somehow," added his father.

"I am sure it will suit me," said the boy. "I know the kind of a man Mr. Shalley is. We'll be sure to get along."

Randy left home early in the morning and half an hour later was on the stage, bound for Leeville, where he was to take the train for Tarrytown, which is directly across the Hudson River from Nyack. His going away was done so quietly that not a dozen persons knew of his departure. The stage was but half filled, so he had plenty of room both for himself and his valise.

Arriving at Leeville he had an hour to wait for the train and spent the time in walking around the little town.

He had just passed one of the largest stores when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, to find himself confronted by Bob Bangs.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the big boy, rather impudently.

"What business is that of yours?" retorted Randy, not liking the manner in which he had been addressed.

"Oh, you needn't answer if you don't want to," sniffed Bob Bangs.

"I am going to Nyack."

"To Nyack? What for?"

"I am going to work for a steamboat owner."

"Humph! Going to work on the river?"

"Yes."

"Cabin boy, I suppose," sneered the rich boy.

"No, as a deckhand."

"I thought so. It's a dirty enough job, and you are welcome to it."

"It's honest work, and the money is clean," answered Randy, warmly.

"Ha! What do you mean by clean money," demanded the big boy, suspiciously.

"Just what I said."

"Maybe you are trying to help spread that report that the Bartletts started about us," said the rich youth.

"What report do you mean, Bob?"

"You know well enough—the one about my father."

"I don't know."

"Ain't the Bartletts telling everybody that my father shoved 'em out of the iron works and that our money wasn't clean?"

"I haven't heard it."

"Bah! You needn't play the innocent. I know you, and I know Jack Bartlett, too."

"I don't think your folks treated the Bartletts just right," went on our hero, resolved to stand up for his friends.

"We treated 'em better than they deserved. If I had been my father I should have kicked old man Bartlett out."

"Your father wouldn't have dared, Bob Bangs. But I am not going to quarrel with you. What brings you to this place?"

"That's my business."

"You needn't tell me if you don't wish to."

"I am here to get a new horse. I am going to ride horseback after this," went on the rich boy, boastfully. "It's a horse that costs four hundred dollars, too."

"Then you are in luck," was all Randy answered, and walked away, leaving the rich youth gazing after him doubtfully.



CHAPTER XIV

BOB BANGS AND HIS HORSE

Randy continued to wander around the country town, taking in such sights as came to view.

In the meantime Bob Bangs went after the horse he had mentioned. The rich youth had bothered his father for a horse for a long time and at last Mr. Bangs had consented to give him a steed. The horse was to be taken in exchange for a debt, and Bob had agreed to go to Leeville after him and take the animal to the summer resort at which he and his mother were stopping. It may be mentioned that the horse was worth only a hundred and fifty dollars, but the falsehood he had told in regard to the horse's value did not bother Bob Bangs in the least. He loved to boast upon every possible occasion.

"Is he gentle?" asked the rich boy, as he approached the horse, that was standing in the yard of the former owner.

"As gentle as a lamb," was the answer.

"He—he won't run away, will he?" went on Bob, timidly. To tell the truth he knew very little about horses, although he pretended to know a great deal.

"He never ran away in his life," declared the man who was disposing of the horse.

"Then I guess it is all right," said the rich boy, and started to mount into the saddle, for the steed was ready for use.

"Wait a minute."

"What's wanted now."

"I want you to sign a receipt first," said the man.

"Oh, all right."

The receipt was produced, stating that the horse was received in good condition and that the debt was canceled thereby, and the rich youth signed his father's name and his own under it. Then the man held the horse while the boy mounted.

"All safe and sound?" asked the man.

"Yes," answered Bob Bangs. "Good-day," and off he rode.

"Good-day, and good luck to you," answered the man, and he smiled rather grimly to himself as he entered his house.

"The horse seems to be a nice one," thought Bob Bangs, as he rode away. "I wish I could meet Randy Thompson, it would make him feel sick to see me on such a fine animal."

The rich youth's wish was gratified, for turning a corner he caught sight of our hero just as the latter was crossing the street.

"Out of the way there, Randy Thompson!" he cried, and urged his horse forward.

Randy had to jump back, or he might have been knocked down.

"Ain't this a fine horse?" Bob Bangs cried. "Don't you wish you had him?"

And he cut the steed with the whip he carried, to make him increase his speed.

The horse did not like the treatment received and up came his hind hoofs viciously.

"Stop! None of that!" roared Bob Bangs, in fright. "Whoa there!"

He began to saw on the reins, and as a consequence the horse turned first in one direction and then another. Then he started to back and came up on the sidewalk, scaring several women and children.

"Whoa! Get up!" screamed Bob Bangs, more frightened than ever. "Whoa, I say! What in the old Harry is in the beast, anyway!"

"Look out there!" shouted a man in the crowd. "You'll go through a window next."

"Bob, let me lead him into the street," cried Randy, rushing up and catching the horse by the bridle.

"You let my horse alone!" shouted the rich boy, unreasonably. "I can manage him well enough."

"Very well," answered Randy, quietly, and dropped his hold. As he did so the steed made a plunge along the sidewalk for several yards, knocking over a barber's pole and a newsstand.

"Stop dot! Vot you mean py dot?" yelled the German barber, rushing from his establishment in alarm.

"Get along there, you brute!" cried Bob Bangs, savagely, and struck the horse once more. Again the steed swerved, and made a half turn and began to back.

"Stop him!"

"He is going into the window!"

Crash! And then followed a jingle of glass, and into the window of a grocery next to the barber shop backed the horse, until his hind hoofs rested on a row of canned tomatoes and sardines. Bob Bangs gave a yell of fear and terror and dropped to the sidewalk and then caught the horse by the head. The groceryman came forth from his store in a hurry, and a bitter argument ensued, while a big crowd began to collect. In the end Bob Bangs had to promise to pay for all damage done, and led his horse away by hand, too fearful of further trouble to mount once more.

Randy did not wait to see the end of the dispute, for the train was now due and he had just time enough to hurry to the depot and get aboard the cars. He dropped into the first seat that came to hand and laughed heartily.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," said a man sitting near.

"I just saw something very funny," answered our hero, and told what it was. The man laughed, too.

"It puts me in mind of the time I tried to ride the mule in the circus. It was a trick animal and got me into seven kinds of trouble."

Randy had not had many opportunities to ride on the cars and he enjoyed the trip to Tarrytown very much. Noon found him in the city named and he crossed the river on the ferryboat. Then he hunted up a cheap but neat restaurant, where he got dinner.

"No use of bothering Mr. Shalley just at noon hour," he thought, and so did not go around to the steamboat man's office until one o'clock. A clerk was present who said his employer would come in at two o'clock, so our hero had another hour to wait.

"Is your name Randy Thompson?" questioned the clerk. When told that it was, he continued: "Mr. Shalley is expecting you. I believe you are to be one of the new deckhands."

"Yes."

"I hope you find the work agreeable."

"So do I."

"The other new hand didn't last long."

"How long?"

"Just one week."

"What was the matter?"

"I believe he said he couldn't get along with Polk, the purser."

"I hope I don't have any trouble with anybody," said Randy, anxiously. "I am willing to work hard."

"You'll find Captain Hadley a fine man to deal with. I think he is one of the nicest captains on the river."

"What do you do here?"

"Oh, I am general office clerk. My name is Bart Sandwood."

"I am glad to know you, Mr. Sandwood," answered our hero, and smiled. "I hope business is good with the steamer."

"Travel has been very good and we are getting our share of freight. The other lines bother us some, but not a great deal."

"Is the Helen Shalley one of the big boats of the river?"

"Not one of the largest, but she is by no means a small boat. Then you haven't seen her?"

"Not yet, but I hope to soon."

"She will be on her way down the river this afternoon. She runs from New York to Albany one day and back the next. She doesn't run on Sundays."

"I am glad of that. I don't care to work on Sunday."

"Well, you'll have to do a little. When there are no passengers on board, that is the time to put things in order."

"True enough. I am afraid I will be green."

"Were you never a deckhand before?"

"Never."

At this the clerk gave a low whistle.

"I don't know if Captain Hadley will like that or not. He is a very strict man, even though kind."

"I shall do my best to please him."

"Early in the spring we had two green hands, but they couldn't learn at all, and the captain said they were more bother than they were worth."

"I am sure I can learn—anyway, I mean to try."

"You certainly look bright enough to learn. The other fellows were illiterate foreigners and always tumbling over their own feet. One dropped a trunk on a passenger's foot and the other broke open a box with some fine dishes. That capped the climax, and the captain got rid of them just as soon as he could find some other hands to take their places," concluded Bart Sandwood.



CHAPTER XV

RANDY AS A DECKHAND

When Mr. Andrew Shalley came in he was full of business. He nodded pleasantly to Randy.

"I will see you in a little while," he said, and turned to his clerk. Then Bart Sandwood was sent off on an errand and the steamboat owner turned to look over some letters that had come in.

"Now I am at liberty," he said, pleasantly, shaking hands. "Are you ready for work?"

"Yes, sir," answered Randy, promptly.

"Good! Have you ever been on a large river steamer?"

"No, Mr. Shalley, but I am willing to do all I possibly can to make myself truly useful."

"Well, if I am any judge of character, you'll get along. All you've got to do is to keep your eyes open and obey orders. We have one old deckhand, Pat Malloy. He will teach you what to do."

"When can I go to work?"

"The boat will be along down the river soon. I'll take you on board, as I want to see the captain. As soon as you are settled I'll have you fitted out with a uniform."

"How much will that cost me?"

"In your case it won't cost anything."

"You are very kind."

"Remember, I take a personal interest in you, Randy, and I want to see you get along. Do your duty and rest assured I shall not forget you."

"I don't think I'll disappoint you, Mr. Shalley."

Randy waited around the office until it was almost time for the steamboat to make a landing. Then he went down to the dock with his newly-found friend. Here were a number of passengers, and also a quantity of baggage and freight.

Presently the Helen Shalley hove into sight, with flags flying bravely in the breeze. As Randy had been told, she was not a particularly large steamboat, but she was well proportioned and graceful, and well liked by those who patronized her. We will get better acquainted with the craft as our story proceeds.

As soon as a landing was made, Mr. Shalley went on board, taking Randy with him. Captain Hadley was at hand.

"So this is the new deckhand, eh?" said the captain, in bluff tones. "Pretty strong, are you?"

"I think so," answered Randy, respectfully.

"Well, you'll have to be, to stand this work. Know anything about handling trunks and such stuff?"

"Not a great deal, but I think I can learn."

"We are shorthanded, so you can jump right in," went on the captain of the steamboat.

"Yes, sir. Who will tell me what to do?"

"Pat Malloy. He is the head man of the gang. Here, Malloy," he called out.

"Aye, aye, sur," answered a brawny and jolly-looking Irishman, coming forward and touching his cap.

"Here's your new hand."

Pat Malloy looked at Randy in some astonishment. Our hero was neatly dressed and did not look as if he was used to hard labor.

"Sure an' it's only a boy," murmured the head deckhand.

"He says he can work. Give him a chance," put in Andrew Shalley.

There was plenty to do, and Randy threw off his coat, took off his collar and tie, and pitched in. The labor was by no means easy, and he had not the trick of throwing up a trunk to the best advantage, yet he did very well, and Pat Malloy nodded approvingly.

"Sure, an' ye do better nor some o' thim foreigners already," he declared. "Kape it up an' we'll git along foine together."

Captain Hadley and Andrew Shalley watched the work for several minutes, and then walked to the cabin of the steamboat. Here the owner of the boat told something about Randy.

"I want you to give him a chance even if he is a bit green," said he. "I want the lad to get along."

"He shall have all the chance possible," answered Captain Hadley. "I am glad to get a hand who is intelligent."

Then the two conversed upon private matters until the boat was ready to leave Nyack.

"Good-by, my boy!" cried Mr. Shalley, on leaving. "Take good care of yourself, and let me know how you get along."

"Thank you, I will," answered our hero.

"It may be hard work at first, but you'll get used to it."

"I am not afraid of hard work."

"The captain will give you a uniform in a few days."

The gangplanks were hauled in, the lines cast off, and with a hoarse whistle the Helen Shalley continued on her course down the Hudson. There was a small Italian band on board, consisting of two violins, a harp and a clarionet, and they struck up a popular air.

The work at the dock had somewhat exhausted Randy, who was not used to handling such heavy stuff so quickly, but he took pains to conceal his feelings.

"I am not going to back down, no matter how hard the work is," he told himself. "Others can do it and so can I."

Among the deckhands was a tall, limber American man named Jones. He came up to Randy after the work was done.

"Malloy told me to show you around the boat and give you some pointers," said Jones. "Come ahead."

They passed from one end of the steamboat to the other, through all of the three decks, and Jones named over the various parts and told what the deckhands were expected to do. Then they went below and he told of some work there. Lastly he took Randy to the sleeping quarters.

"This is my bunk," said Jack Jones. "That will be yours over there. When you get the chance, I'll advise you to air your bedding. You can do it after we tie up in New York and the passengers go ashore."

The quarters were small, but not any smaller than Randy's garret apartment in the cottage. Everything was kept as clean as wax, for both Malloy and Jones were enemies to dirt. Randy was glad to learn this and resolved to give the others no cause for complaint regarding his own personal habits.

"Some boats are very dirty and the bunks not fit for a dog to sleep in," said Jack Jones. "But Malloy won't allow it on this boat, and I won't have it either."

"And I am with you," answered our hero.

"Came from a farm, didn't you?"

"Yes, but our family wasn't on the farm long."

"I came from a farm myself."

"How long have you been on this boat?"

"Came the middle of last season."

"Do you like it?"

"If I didn't I shouldn't be here."

"I suppose that is so."

"Captain Hadley is a fine man to work for. He is strict but fair, and that is what I like."

"What about the others?"

"The mate, Tom Blossom, is nice, too. The man we all hate is Peter Polk, the purser."

"What's the matter with him?"

"Well, between you and me, I think he is a sneak."

"In what way?"

"He is always making trouble for somebody. Nobody seems to like him much, although he attends strictly to business."

"I hope I don't have trouble with Mr. Polk."

"Well, you will have to watch yourself."

Several other landings were made, and promptly at the appointed time the Helen Shalley swung into her dock at New York City and the remaining passengers went ashore. Then began the labor of unloading the baggage and freight, after which the deck was swabbed up, the brass-work polished, and such baggage as was at hand taken on board for transportation up the river the next day.

When he had finished his day's labors Randy was tired and perfectly willing to rest for a while. He had had a good supper and might have gone directly to bed, but instead he sat up to write a letter to the folks at home, telling his father and mother of his day's experience.

Our hero had to go ashore to post the communication, and once out in the street he resolved to take a little walk around before returning to the steamboat. He was soon walking along West Street, and then took to a side street running up to the avenues.

Now, although our hero did not know it, he had chosen one of the worst streets in this part of the great city. It was filled with tenements and groggeries of the lowest description, and the sidewalks swarmed with all sorts of low characters.

He had scarcely walked two squares before a rough-looking fellow jostled him. The next instant Randy felt a hand in his pocket.

"Stop that!" cried Randy. But the fellow was already running up the street. Our hero clapped his hand in the pocket and discovered that eighty cents in change was missing.

"I am not going to lose that money!" he told himself, with vigor. "I may be a greeny, but I'll give that thief some trouble."

At first he thought to cry out, but then reconsidered the matter and remained silent. He set off after the thief, and away went man and boy along the crowded thoroughfare.

The man evidently thought he could lose himself in the crowd, but by the aid of the street lights, Randy kept him in sight. He passed along for two blocks and then turned into a side street and then into a blind alley.

Our hero managed to keep him in view and saw him spring up the steps of a dilapidated tenement house. The man ran through the lower hallway and into the back yard, piled high with rubbish of all kinds. Here he hid behind some empty boxes.

Randy was soon in the yard and gazing around eagerly. As he did so he saw a thin and pale girl of about ten standing near. Soon she came up to him timidly.

"Did you see a man run in here?" said Randy.

"Yes," she answered, but in a hesitating voice.

"Where did he go?"

"I don't dare tell you," whispered the girl.

"Why not?"

"That is Bill Hosker."

"And who is Bill Hosker?"

"Don't you know him?" And the little girl's eyes opened in astonishment.

"No, I don't."

"Bill Hosker is the boss around here. He does just as he pleases. If anybody crosses him Bill 'most kills them."

"Oh, he's a bully, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Well, where did he go?"

"You won't tell him I told you?"

"No."

"He crawled in behind those boxes," answered the little girl and then ran away.

Randy waited to hear no more, but made a dash for the boxes. As he did so, the fellow who had robbed him leaped up, club in hand.

"Go out of here!" he cried, in a hoarse voice. "I don't want anything to do with a kid like you."

"You give me my money," answered Randy, vigorously. "I am not going to let the like of you rob me."

"Ho! ho! Hear the kid talk! Go away, before I maul ye!" And Bill Hosker brandished his club.

But our hero was not to be daunted thus readily, and looking around he espied a stick and picked it up. Then he advanced upon Bill Hosker, who promptly leaped to the top of a big packing case. The next instant he came down upon Randy, bearing him to the ground. Our hero tried to defend himself, but it was useless. He was crushed beneath that heavy weight, and then the rascal gave him a crack on the head that stretched him senseless.



CHAPTER XVI

IN NEW YORK CITY

"Will he live, mamma?"

"I think so, Rose. But he has been badly misused."

"Bill Hosker ought to be locked up for it."

"Nobody will lock Bill up. He has too much influence with the politicians," answered the woman.

She was bending over Randy, who was still unconscious. Mother and daughter had carried our hero from the yard to their room in the rear of the tenement. Nobody else had been around. The girl had witnessed Bill Hosker's nefarious deed and had at once summoned her parent.

Mrs. Clare was a poor widow lady who supported herself by sewing. Rose was her only child and did what she could to help her mother. Sewing did not pay well, and the Clares had all they could do to make both ends meet.

But Mrs. Clare had a warm heart and so had Rose, and it pained them greatly to see Randy so mistreated. They carried him into their one room and placed him on their bed and did what they could for him.

At last he opened his eyes and stared around him. Then he sat up slowly.

"Where am I?" he asked, faintly.

"We brought you into the house—mother and I," answered Rose. "Don't you remember, Bill Hosker struck you down?"

"Oh, yes; I remember that now." Randy took a deep breath and put his hand to his head. "He hit me pretty hard, didn't he?"

"I am afraid he did," answered Mrs. Clare. "It was a shame, too."

"Where is he now?"

"He ran away."

"He stole eighty cents from me."

"Perhaps he took more," said Rose. "He went through your pockets after he knocked you down. I saw him do it."

With his head still aching, our hero felt in first one pocket and then another. He gave something like a groan.

"Every cent is gone!"

"How much did you have?"

"Between four and five dollars."

"I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Clare. "But I am afraid you will never see your money again."

"Does that rascal live around here?"

"Sometimes. He comes and goes to suit himself. I suppose he will stay away now for a while."

"Is there any use of my reporting this to the police, do you think?"

"I don't think so. He once took my pocket-book from the table here—I am sure of it—but when I reported it to the police nothing was done. They said his word was as good as mine."

"How long have I been here?"

"About half an hour."

"Then he has had a good chance to get away. Did you bring me here?"

"Yes."

"You are very kind, Mrs. ——"

"I am Mrs. Clare and this is my daughter Rose."

"And I am Randy Thompson, a deckhand on the Hudson River steamboat Helen Shalley."

"Oh!" Mrs. Clare paused for a moment. "Do you know Mr. Polk, the purser?"

"Yes, but not very well. I just got the job as a deckhand to-day."

"Mr. Polk is a relative of mine by marriage."

"I see."

"We—that is—well, we are not very good friends," went on Mrs. Clare.

"Mamma thinks Mr. Polk hasn't been honest with us," put in Rose, quickly. "I don't think so either."

"Rose, you must not talk so!"

"But it is true, isn't it?" returned the daughter.

"I may be misjudging Cousin Peter," said Mrs. Clare. "You see," she added, by way of an explanation, "my cousin Peter Polk had the settlement of my husband's affairs when he died, and I have always imagined that—well, that Rose and I did not get exactly what was coming to us."

"Mamma thought the account was three hundred dollars short," said Rose, who was inclined to be blunt.

"Couldn't you get a clear statement?" questioned Randy, with interest.

"We got a statement, but it was not clear to me," answered Mrs. Clare.

As soon as he felt able to do so, Randy got on his feet. He felt rather dizzy and he had a large lump over his left ear, where he had been struck by the club.

"See here," he said, when he was ready to depart, "I am much obliged to you for what you have done. But I'd like you to do more, if you will. As soon as this Bill Hosker comes back to this neighborhood let me know. You'll always find me on board of the Helen Shalley."

"I'll let you know," answered Rose. "But don't let Bill Hosker know who told you, or he'll want to kill me."

When Randy got back to the steamboat he felt so weak he could scarcely walk on board. Jones came forward to meet him.

"Say, you ain't been drinking, have you?" he demanded, as he saw our hero stagger.

"No, I don't drink," answered Randy. "I've been knocked down and robbed."

And sitting down on a bench he told his story to the other deckhand, and let Jones feel of the lump on his head.

"I was going to warn you when you went ashore, but I thought you'd be wise enough to keep out of trouble. It's a shame."

"They told me it wouldn't do any good to tell the police."

"I am afraid not. Such things happen pretty often in that kind of a neighborhood."

Randy was glad enough to turn in. He bathed the lump with cold water and put on some witch-hazel, which made it feel better. Despite the adventure he slept soundly until it was time to turn out in the morning.

"I suppose you'll want some money," said Jones. "I can lend you a dollar till pay day, if you wish."

"Thank you," returned Randy. "You are kind, and I'll accept the loan. I'll pay you back just as soon as I get my pay. I hate to be without a cent in my pocket."

"I have been there myself and know just how it feels," answered Jones. He had, in his rough way, taken a fancy to our hero, which feeling was reciprocated.

There was plenty to do before the steamboat left the dock at New York City, and Randy's arms ached when the command came to cast off the lines. He had done his full share of the labor, and Pat Malloy nodded approvingly.

"Kape it up an' you'll be all roight," said the head deckhand.

The trip to Albany that day had much of novelty in it for Randy. There was a good deal of work, of which he had not dreamed before, yet there were also times when he could look at the scenery as the big craft glided along. At the newsstand on board there was a big folding map of the river, showing the different towns and points of interest, and this the standkeeper loaned him for a couple of hours. He studied the map closely and was soon able to recognize certain points as they appeared.

Several days slipped by and Randy felt quite at home on board. He had been supplied with the regulation deckhand's outfit; dark blue shirt and trousers, and a cap to match, and looked very well when thus attired. He was getting acquainted with the work and could handle a trunk, or a box or barrel almost as well as Jones or Malloy.

"How does the boy do?" asked Captain Hadley of Malloy.

"It's the new broom as swapes clane," answered the head deckhand. "I ain't braggin' yit, captain."

"But he is doing all right so far?"

"Aye, aye, sur—very well indade."

"I am glad to hear it. Mr. Shalley told me the boy needed the job. His father is on the sick list, and he has got to do what he can to help support his parents."

"I reckon he'll be all right," answered Pat Malloy. "He's better than thim foreigners, anyway." To him, the only foreigners were Italians and Germans. He did not think himself one, although he had come from the "ould sod" less than six years before.



CHAPTER XVII

THE PURSER HAS HIS SAY

One night, when the steamboat was tied up at Albany, Randy donned his street clothes and hunted up the place where Jack Bartlett lived. He found his former friend at home and glad to see him.

"Come in," said Jack, shaking hands. "How have you been since we met last?"

"Pretty fair, Jack. And how have you been?"

"I'm all right. I've got a job. That is why I haven't used my boat pass."

"A job?"

"Yes, I am working in the same place where father has a position."

"Then you are not going to school again?"

"Not for the present." Jack lowered his voice. "You see, father isn't earning any too much, so I—well, I thought I'd help the family along."

The two friends sat down in the parlor and our hero told his tale, and then Jack related some of his own experiences.

"My father is in hopes that he can get at Mr. Bangs before long," said Jack. "The trouble is, some papers are missing. He had them in a desk at the works, but when he came away he couldn't find them."

"Perhaps Mr. Bangs got them."

"It is possible, but father can't prove it."

"Have you seen or heard anything of Bob Bangs lately?"

"He is along the Hudson somewhere—on a vacation with his mother."

"I met him when he was getting a horse," answered our hero and told of what had happened.

"I wish I had been there!" cried Jack, laughing heartily. "I'll wager Bob was as mad as seventeen hornets."

"Yes, indeed. He must have had a good bill to pay for damages."

Randy spent a pleasant two hours with Jack and then went back to the boat, Jack promising to visit the craft some night when the Helen Shalley should tie up at Albany again.

So far matters had gone well on board. Randy was much amused by the passengers, especially those who were peculiar in their manners. There was one fussy old gentleman who went up and down the river twice a week. He always wanted to sit in a corner in the shade and asked a dozen times a day if they weren't behindhand.

"We are exactly on time," said Randy, to him, one day.

"Hum!" cried the old gentleman, consulting a watch he carried. "I think we are twenty minutes behindhand."

"We haven't been twenty minutes behindhand since I've been on the boat," said Randy, as he moved off.

The old gentleman grumbled to himself and restored his timepiece to his pocket.

A minute later Randy saw an Englishman saunter along the deck and stop close to the old gentleman. Randy had noticed the Englishman before, because he spoke with a strong Cockney accent—that is, he dropped h's where they were wanted and put them in when not needed. At this time the steamboat was just approaching the Highlands.

The Englishman pointed to the Highlands with his cane and addressed the old gentleman.

"Hexcuse me," he said, "but are those the 'Ighlands you brag about in this country?"

"The islands?" was the astonished reply.

"Why, no, sir, those are not islands at all. Have you never studied geography? An island is entirely surrounded by water," continued the fussy old gentleman.

"Oh, you mean hilands. I don't mean them at all, don't you know. I repeat, are those the 'Ighlands you talk about so much?" went on the Cockney, blandly.

"They are not islands, sir—they are the Highlands," shouted the old gentleman.

"Just exactly what I said, sir—the 'Ighlands."

"No, not islands—Highlands."

"Hexactly."

"But you said islands."

"No, I did not say hilands, I said the 'Ighlands," went on the Cockney. "Hevidently you don't understand good, plain Henglish," and he walked off in disgust.

"The imp, the blithering imp," growled the old gentleman. "May he never come near me again!"

At one of the landings a barrel for use on the boat broke, spilling some fancy flour on the deck. Randy was clearing up the muss when the purser, Peter Polk, came along. Our hero did not witness his approach, and consequently the purser received some dust on his shoes, which had just been polished.

"Hi! hi! Have a care there!" he cried. "What do you mean by covering me with dust?"

"Excuse me, sir," said Randy, hastily. "I didn't see you coming."

"I just had those shoes shined!"

"I am sorry, sir."

"You're the new man, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're a blockhead, it seems to me," went on the purser, who was in particularly bad humor that day.

An angry remark rose to Randy's lips, but he repressed it.

"You be more careful in the future, or you'll get into trouble," grumbled the purser, and walked away.

The moment the purser was gone Jones came up to our hero.

"Brute, ain't he?" he said, in a low voice.

"He called me a blockhead." Randy's eyes were flashing.

"Don't you mind him, lad. He is sour all the way through—he don't seem to be able to help it."

"I didn't see him coming."

"He should have looked where he was walking."

"I don't wonder the hands don't like him," went on Randy. "I don't think Captain Hadley would have spoken so."

"Not a bit of it—the captain's a gentleman, every inch of him."

"How do he and the purser get along together?"

"None too good, so I've been told. I wish we had a man in place of Polk."

"So do I."

"More than likely, when he comes to pay you your wages, he'll take out the price of a shoe shine."

"Would he really be mean enough to do that?"

"Polk is about mean enough to do anything."

There the talk ended and Randy finished up his work. The day passed, and when the steamboat tied up that night Randy was more than usually sleepy. It was very warm, and he went on the upper deck to get a breath of fresh air.

"See here," said the purser, coming up to him rather suddenly. "Are you talking about me?"

"Talking about you?" repeated our hero, somewhat puzzled.

"That is what I said."

"Not particularly, Mr. Polk."

"Somebody on this boat is telling tales about me, and I don't like it."

To this Randy made no answer.

"Have you heard any stories?" went on Peter Polk.

"What kind of stories?"

"That I was going to leave the steamboat?"

"No, sir."

"No stories at all?"

"No, sir."

"Humph!" And with this the purser walked away.

"What did he want now?" asked Jones, coming up a little later.

"Wanted to know if I had been circulating stories about him."

"Did you tell him no?"

"I did."

"I've heard a story—in a roundabout way—that Mr. Shalley is getting tired of the way Polk runs the money matters on this boat."

"Does he run all the money matters?"

"Sure—that is a purser's business. He does the buying—or most of it—too."

"I see."

"I don't believe he buys to advantage," went on Jones, closing one eye suggestively.

"I don't understand."

"Maybe he buys at two prices—some of 'em do, you know."

Randy did not know, but he did not say so.

"I knew a purser once—on the Sea Shell—who used to pay one price for a thing and then charge the owners of the vessel another price. At last they caught him at it and sent him to prison."

This opened Randy's eyes to what his fellow-deckhand was driving at.

"Do you imagine Polk is that sort?"

"He is certainly close."

"So you said before. Well, he ought to be watched."

"Oh, it's not my affair," said Jones. "Say, I am going to bed," he added.

"So am I," said Randy, and retired, thinking of what Jones had said and also of what the Clares had told him regarding Peter Polk.



CHAPTER XVIII

A MEETING ON THE RIVER

Two weeks passed and Randy felt quite at home on board of the steamboat. He had learned his duties fully and was giving satisfaction to Captain Hadley and Pat Malloy.

His only enemy seemed to be Polk the purser, who was as disagreeable as possible. Our hero did his best to steer clear of the fellow, and in a measure succeeded.

One evening, while the boat was tied up at the dock in New York Randy chanced to look ashore when he saw Rose Clare motioning to him. He at once joined the girl.

"I came down to tell you that Bill Hosker was around yesterday," said the girl to our hero.

"Is he around now?" questioned Randy, quickly.

"No, he went away yesterday evening. He was only around about two hours."

"I wish I had seen him."

"I thought you'd like to know about it. I came down last night, but a man here told me you were at Albany."

"Yes, we come to New York every other night, not counting Sundays."

"I think Bill Hosker will come again soon. I suppose he thinks you have given up trying to find him."

"Well, I haven't given it up, Rose. How are things going with yourself and your mother?"

"Not very good."

"Can't she get much sewing to do?"

"She and I made only five dollars and a quarter last week."

"And what rent do you pay?"

"Six dollars a month for just the one room."

"That is certainly hard. I wish I could help you, but I can't—at least, not now."

"We wouldn't want help, if only we could get more sewing."

"I'll ask Captain Hadley about it. He has a wife and a family of girls."

Randy was as good as his word. He met the captain the next day, when the officer appeared to have little to do.

"Captain, may I speak to you a moment?" he asked, respectfully, and at the same time tipping his cap.

"What is it, Randy?"

"I know a poor lady in New York who does sewing for a living. She is anxious to get more work and I am anxious to help her, if I possibly can. Do you know of anybody who would like some sewing done—your wife or anybody else?"

"Hm! I don't know," answered the steamboat captain. "I'll remember what you say and see. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where does the poor woman live?"

"Not far from our landing place in New York." He gave the street and number. "It isn't a nice neighborhood, but it is the best the woman can afford," he added.

"Yes, I know many folks in New York who live in bad neighborhoods simply because they cannot afford something better. I will speak to my wife about this."

The captain did as he had promised. Mrs. Hadley was going to New York the next day and said she would call upon Mrs. Clare. The family lived in Albany, so that the captain was home every other night.

Mrs. Hadley was as good as her word. She was a Christian woman, a worker in the church, and she became at once interested in Mrs. Clare and her daughter Rose.

"This is no place for Rose," said she. "This foul air is bad for her."

"I know it—but I do not see how I can turn myself," said Mrs. Clare, with a sigh. Poverty had completely broken her spirit.

The captain's wife looked over some of the sewing that Mrs. Clare had done and soon learned that the woman was a clever seamstress. Then she made an offer.

"If you wish, you can come to my home with me," she said. "You can sew for me, and Rose can go to school and also help around the house. I will give you five dollars a week and your board."

"I will accept gladly!" cried the poor woman, and burst into tears of gratitude.

It was arranged that Mrs. Clare should leave New York on the following Saturday. She was to sell off the most of her things—alas! there were not many articles to dispose of! and the others were to be transferred to Albany on the boat.

"My cousin, Mr. Polk, will be surprised to learn of this move," said Mrs. Clare to the captain's wife.

"What, is he your cousin?" queried Mrs. Hadley.

"Yes, by marriage," and then Mrs. Clare told her tale of suffering, to which the captain's wife gave a willing ear.

"I must speak of this to my husband," said Mrs. Hadley. "I do not think he likes Mr. Polk very much."

On Saturday Randy was moving some baggage from one side of the lower deck to the other when Peter Polk came along. As luck would have it, some trunks were in the way, so that the purser could not pass.

"Look here, you blockhead, why don't you keep this gangway clear?" he roared to Randy.

"I am trying to clear it now," answered our hero, as calmly as he could.

"It ought to be kept clear always. Who ordered this stuff here, anyway?"

"Mr. Malloy."

"He had no business to do it."

"Why didn't I, I'd like to be after knowin'?" came in a voice from behind the purser, and the head deckhand appeared on the scene.

"Oh, so you're here, are you?" sneered Peter Polk.

"I am that, Mr. Polk. I ordered thim trunks there. Have ye anything against it?" demanded Malloy, boldly. "If ye have, report to the captain."

"You're blocking the whole gangway."

"Thim trunks had to be shifted, an' Thompson is shiftin' 'em."

"Humph!"

"I know me juty on this boat, Mr. Polk."

"Well—er—hurry up then and clear this gangway," grumbled the purser, and walked away. Malloy closed one eye and looked at Randy suggestively with the other.

"He knew he had no right to interfere—it's not his line o' juty," said the head deckhand.

Randy completed his work and then went to one of the upper decks, to fix some of the awnings. To his surprise he found Mrs. Clare and Rose there, in conversation with Peter Polk.

"Going to Albany?" the purser was saying. "What for?"

"I have a situation there, and Rose is going also," answered the poor woman.

"What kind of a situation?"

"I am to sew for Mrs. Hadley."

"Not the captain's wife?"

"Yes."

At this announcement the face of the purser dropped. Evidently the news did not please him.

"You won't find that very pleasant," he said.

"It will be better than starving in the city, Peter."

"How much is she going to pay you?"

Mrs. Clare told him.

"That is not a fortune. You ought to be able to earn more in New York."

"I couldn't get the work."

"I might have gotten something for you, if you had let me know," went on Peter Polk.

"Thank you—I prefer to look out for myself," answered Mrs. Clare, coolly.

"This looks as if I was letting one of my relatives live on charity," pursued the purser.

"I do not consider it a charity."

"How did the captain's wife hear of you?"

"Why, she—there is a boy on this boat—there he is—he spoke to the captain about it."

"You mean Randy Thompson?"

"Yes, that is his name."

"He got the place for you?"

"Yes."

"How did you happen to know him?"

"It's a long story. He was knocked down and robbed and Rose and I went to his assistance. But we must go now. Mrs. Hadley wanted us to do some sewing for the captain while on this trip," and Mrs. Clare walked away, followed by Rose. Peter Polk gazed after them thoughtfully.

"I hope she doesn't get the captain's wife too much interested in her affairs," he muttered to himself. "I shouldn't care to have the old accounts raked up in court."



CHAPTER XIX

AN UNLOOKED-FOR ENCOUNTER

It was now early in September and the travel down the river was particularly heavy, for many folks who had been away for a vacation were returning to the metropolis. Baggage kept pouring in until the lower deck was practically filled.

"This is a banner season, so Malloy tells me," said Jones to Randy.

"I know there is lots of work," answered our hero, whose arms ached not a little.

"Never mind, I've got good news."

"What is that?"

"Mr. Shalley is going to allow us an extra five dollars this month."

"Good enough."

Randy had received several letters from home. Matters were going smoothly and Mr. Thompson was feeling better every day. The garden was doing finely. In one letter Mrs. Thompson wrote that there had been two strikes at the iron works, each due to Mr. Bangs' overbearing manner towards his workmen.

"I thought he'd have trouble sooner or later," said Randy to himself, as he perused the communication. "What a pity that Mr. Bartlett isn't in charge."

One fine afternoon the Helen Shalley was steaming down the river as usual and Randy was near the bow, coiling up a hawser, when he noticed a sloop some distance ahead. It was tacking in an uncertain manner, as if the party on board did not know much about sailing such a craft.

The sloop was directly in the path of the big steamboat, and the latter gave a warning whistle and then turned to one side. As she did this the sloop turned in the same direction.

"Hullo! What does that fellow in the sloop mean?" cried Randy to Jones, who was near.

"What's the matter?"

"He'll be run down if he doesn't look out."

"Some fool that doesn't know how to sail a boat, I guess," said the other deckhand.

Swiftly the steamboat and the sloop drew close to one another. The big boat let out another warning blast, and again the pilot turned her out of her course. But the sloop also turned.

"There is only one young fellow on board," said Jones. "Look, he acts as if he was scared out of his wits."

"I know him!" fairly shouted our hero.

"You do?"

"Yes, it is Bob Bangs, the rich young fellow I told you about."

"The fellow who couldn't manage his hoss?"

"The same."

"Well, he doesn't seem to know no more about his boat than he did about that hoss," was the deckhand's comment.

"We are going to run into him!" gasped Randy.

"No, he is going to run into us."

"It will amount to the same thing—so far as he is concerned."

"Maybe—but it will be his fault if he gets drowned."

Another warning whistle now rang out, but was of no avail. The sloop swerved again and then came squarely up to the big steamboat, which was now backing water furiously.

"Stop! Don't run me down!" screamed Bob Bangs. He was fairly white with terror.

His cries were cut short by the crash as the sloop struck. The bow was splintered, and the shock threw Bob Bangs overboard. Luckily he was far enough away to escape the paddle-wheel, as the Helen Shalley continued to go ahead despite the fact that her engines had been reversed.

The first surprise over, Randy was quick to act. Not far away was a life preserver having a line attached to it and this he took from its hooks. He waited for the rich boy to appear. Soon he came up, spluttering.

"Catch the preserver!" called out our hero and cast the article in such a skillful manner that it fell within easy reach.

"Save me! Save me!" gasped the rich youth, throwing his arms wildly about him.

"Take hold of the life preserver!" called out half a hundred people at once. Then several other cries rang out.

At last the motion of the water washed the life preserver up against Bob Bangs' arm. He clutched at it desperately. By this time the steamboat had come to a standstill, and it was an easy matter for Randy and Jones to pull the rich youth towards the vessel. Then a rope ladder was lowered and Bob Bangs came up to the deck, dripping with water.



"Well, young man, you had a narrow escape," said Captain Hadley, as he pushed his way through the crowd to the spot.

"I know it, and it's all your fault!" whined Bob Bangs.

"My fault? Nonsense!"

"You ran me down! I'll have the law on you for it."

"Don't talk like a fool, young man. I was in the wheelhouse myself with the pilot and saw just how you acted. Evidently you don't know much about handling boats."

"I know all about them," insisted the rich youth. But this was a falsehood, as Randy well knew. Bob could row and that was about all.

"You'll have to pay for smashing my boat," went on the rich boy, after a pause. "And you'll have to pay for wetting my new suit," he added, gazing ruefully at the natty outing suit he had donned but an hour before.

"You'll not get a cent out of me," said Captain Hadley, firmly. "This accident was clearly of your own making. We gave you plenty of room, but you turned directly into our course twice. Be thankful that you weren't ground up under the paddle-wheel."

"Yes, and be thankful that Randy Thompson threw you a life preserver," put in Jones.

At the mention of our hero's name Bob Bangs looked around in surprise. He had not noticed Randy before.

"What, you here!" he exclaimed and did not seem particularly happy over the meeting.

"I am," answered Randy.

"Did you throw out that line with the preserver?" asked the captain.

"I did, sir," and Randy touched his cap.

"I am glad to know it," and the captain's face showed his appreciation of Randy's prompt action.

"What are you doing here—in that outfit?" asked Bob Bangs, curiously.

"I am a deckhand on this steamboat."

"Pooh! a deckhand!" and the rich boy's nose went up into the air in disdain. He would give Randy no credit for helping to save his life.

"Clear the deck, please!" called out Captain Hadley, to the crowd that was pressing in on all sides. "The excitement is over. The boy is safe."

"I want you to put me ashore," said Bob Bangs.

"We'll make a landing a mile below here," said the Captain.

"I don't want to go to the next landing."

"Sorry, but we can't turn back," answered Captain Hadley.

"What about my boat?"

"We'll take it in tow."

This was done, and in a few minutes the Helen Shalley had resumed her journey. Bob Bangs was led to one of the staterooms and offered a dry suit of clothes, which he put on.

"I'll take your name and address," said Captain Hadley.

"What for?"

"As a matter of record. And remember, I want the clothing returned."

"Humph! Maybe my father will sue you for damages!"

"If he does he will lose the case."

Inside of five minutes the next landing place was made, and Bob Bangs went ashore, taking his wet suit with him. The damaged sloop was tied up at the dock, and having discharged and taken on passengers and baggage the steamboat sped on her way once more.

"He's as mad as a wet hen," said Jones to Randy. "And he ought to be thankful for having his life spared."

"He always was a mean sort of fellow," answered our hero. "And his folks are just as mean as he is."

"Then maybe they will try to make trouble for the steamboat owner."

Amos Bangs did try to make trouble. Two days after the accident on the river Andrew Shalley received a letter which ran in part as follows:

"As you perhaps know, my son, Robert Bangs, was out on the Hudson on the 6th inst., in his sloop, when, without any cause whatsoever, your steamboat, the Helen Shalley, ran into his boat, smashed it completely and put him in peril of his life.

"I am a man of few words, sir, and I demand damages for this outrage. If you wish to settle, you may send me your check for one thousand dollars; if not, I will sue you for that amount."



CHAPTER XX

WHAT CAME OF A DEMAND

The letter from Amos Bangs worried Andrew Shalley a little and he at once called on Captain Hadley, as soon as the steamboat made a landing at Nyack.

"It seems you ran down a boy a few days ago," said the steamboat owner.

"He tried to run us down," answered the captain, quietly.

"Was he hurt?"

"Not in the least."

"His father wants a thousand dollars' damages."

"I wouldn't pay him a cent."

"Did you run him down?"

"No, he tried to run us down."

"This is no joke, Captain Hadley."

"I know it, Mr. Shalley. But to threaten us with a suit at law is absurd. I can bring a dozen witnesses to prove that the accident was entirely of the boy's making."

"I am glad to hear that," and Andrew Shalley breathed a sigh of relief. He did not care so much for the money, but he wanted to know that Captain Hadley was not to blame.

"That boy acted like a little fool from beginning to end," went on the captain of the steamboat and then told his story. Later Randy was called up, to relate what he had done, and also Jones.

"If there is any trouble some of the passengers will testify for us," said Captain Hadley, and mentioned half a dozen who had said they would stick to the captain, in case of trouble. The passengers were well-known citizens, whose testimony would be sure to carry weight in any court of law.

Having satisfied himself that Amos Bangs had no case against him, the steamboat owner wrote to the rich manufacturer to that effect. By return mail he received this reply:

"Your bluff will not work with me. You are to blame and must pay. If I do not receive your check for one thousand dollars by the middle of next week I shall bring suit. My son is now in bed and under the doctor's care because of the accident."

"Humph! Under the doctor's care, eh?" mused the steamboat owner. "This certainly seems to be serious after all. He will certainly make trouble for me even if he doesn't win his case."

Again the steamboat owner interviewed Captain Hadley, and then the pair called in Randy, to learn what he could tell about the Bangs family in general. Our hero told all he knew, including the trouble Mr. Bartlett was having with the iron manufacturer.

"Evidently he is a man to get money in any manner possible," mused Andrew Shalley. "He will certainly bring suit."

"I don't believe Bob is sick," said Randy. "He must be shamming."

"I wish I knew for sure."

"Perhaps I can find out for you—if you'll give me a day or two off," said our hero, struck by a sudden idea.

"A good plan!" cried Captain Hadley. "Let the lad see what he can do, by all means."

The matter was talked over, and the upshot was that on the next trip of the steamboat Randy went ashore at Catskill, near which town Bob Bangs and his mother were spending their vacation.

From some men at the dock our hero was enabled to find out all about the damaged sloop, which had been returned to Catskill. It was to cost twenty dollars to put the craft in good condition again.

"Those folks are stopping at a small hotel on the Burnham road," said one of the dock men. "It's called the Sharon House."

"Thank you," returned our hero.

He was soon on the way to the Sharon House—since demolished by fire. It did not take him long to cover the distance. As he approached he looked around for some signs of the Bangs family and presently espied Mrs. Bangs lounging in a hammock on a side veranda, reading a novel.

"I wonder if it is possible that Bob is really in bed sick?" he mused. "If he is it's a wonder Mrs. Bangs isn't with him. But then I guess she is a selfish woman, anyway."

Randy walked around the hotel and down to the stable. Here he met a colored boy who helped around the horses.

"Say, can you tell me where I can find Bob Bangs?" he asked, boldly.

"Bob Bangs jest went down to the ball grounds," was the answer, which surprised Randy not a little.

"Where are the grounds?"

"That way," and the colored boy pointed with his hand.

"I thought maybe Bob was sick."

"He ain't sick—he's only pertendin'," answered the colored boy.

Randy said no more but hurried off in the direction of the baseball grounds. Just as he came in sight of the place, he saw a figure ahead that looked familiar to him.

"Unless I am mistaken, that is Bob," he told himself, and hurried closer.

It was indeed Bob Bangs, walking along as if nothing had ever happened to him. He was smoking a cigarette. He passed into the grounds and Randy did the same, and took a seat on a bench directly behind the rich youth.