The culprit was cross-questioned by the lawyers for half an hour, but all to no purpose. He stoutly denied all knowledge of the boat, and, besides, he could not be made to contradict himself. Finally, after a long consultation with the constable and Mr. Graves, the 'squire dismissed him, telling him that he was satisfied, and that he was sorry to have caused him so much trouble.
"That's all mighty nice," said the bully, to himself, when he reached the street. "Mr. Grimes said I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes, an' I guess he'll find that he can't pull none over mine, neither. I'm sharper'n they think fur. I'll jest keep watch of that constable an' Bobby Jennings, fur I know what they're up to as well as they do."
"I am sorry that we can't do any thing for you, Bob," said Mr. Graves, as soon as Sam had taken his departure.
"So am I," replied the fisher-boy; "but, after all, it might have been worse. I never allow a little thing like this to discourage me, and I'll soon show Sam Barton that it is not in his power to trouble me long!"
This remark was made in the presence of several persons, who had lingered about the court-room to talk the matter over, and there was not one among them who did not believe that Bob was the spunkiest fellow he had ever seen. The fisher-boy's vanity was flattered by several remarks he happened to overhear; such as, "You can't discourage him. He will make his mark in the world one of these days!" "Yes," said another, "he is all grit. He will succeed in any thing he undertakes." Now, these men supposed that Bob was relying upon himself; but, had they known any thing about the lottery, and been aware of the fact that it was his intention to wait for his twenty-five hundred dollars, before he made a single effort to extricate himself from his difficulties, they might not have been so lavish in their praise.
During the next two weeks there were three boys in the village who lived in a state of constant fear and excitement. Bob Jennings was totally unfit for work; indeed, he grew more and more indolent every day he lived. He spent the most of his time in wandering about the wharves, watching Sam Barton, and living over, in imagination, the life he intended to lead as soon as his fortune arrived. He was not half so much troubled by the loss of his fine skiff as by the fear that something would happen to destroy all his bright hopes. The letter, in which he had sent his money to those gentlemen in Baltimore, might miscarry, or the whole thing might turn out to be a humbug, and then what would become of him? With a debt of twenty-six dollars hanging over him, with not a cent in his purse with which to supply his present necessities, and without a boat to carry on his business, what could he do? The fisher-boy would become frightened when he took this view of the situation, and then he would hunt up his friend Tom Newcombe, to make inquiries concerning the expected letter, and to listen to his words of encouragement.