Grit. Alger Horatio Jr.

quiet, thank you."

      "You see, he earns his living by boating, explained Phil, with the manner of one who was speaking of a very inferior person.

      "How much have you earned now?" he asked further.

      "Only twenty cents," answered Grit; "but I suppose," he added, smiling, "I suppose you intend to pay me liberally."

      "I mean to pay you your regular fare," said Phil, who was not of a liberal disposition.

      "Thank you; I ask no more."

      "Do you row across often?" asked Marion.

      "Sometimes I make eight or ten trips in a day. On the Fourth of July I went fifteen times."

      "How strong you must be!"

      "Pooh! I could do more than that," said Phil loftily, unwilling that Grit should be admired for anything.

      "Oh, I know you're remarkable," said his cousin dryly.

      Just then the wind, which was unusually strong, took Phil's hat, and it blew off to a considerable distance.

      "My hat's off!" exclaimed Phil, in excitement. "Row after it, quick. It's a new Panama, and cost ten dollars."

      CHAPTER III.

      THE LOST HAT

      Grit complied with the request of his passenger, and rowed after Phil's hat. But there was a strong current, and it was not without considerable trouble that he at last secured it. But, alas! the new hat, with its bright ribbon, was well soaked when it was fished out of the water.

      "It's mean," ejaculated Phil, lifting it with an air of disgust. "Just my luck."

      "Are you so unlucky, then?" asked his cousin Marion, with a half smile.

      "I should say so. What do you call this?"

      "A wet hat."

      "How am I ever to wear it? It will drip all over my clothes."

      "I think you had better buy a common one in Portville, and leave this one here to dry."

      "How am I going round Portville bareheaded?" inquired Phil crossly.

      "Shall I lend you my hat?" asked Marion.

      "Wouldn't I look like a fool, going round the streets with a girl's hat on?"

      "Well, you are the best judge of that," answered Marion demurely.

      Grit laughed, as the young lady glanced at him with a smile.

      "What are you laughing at, you boatman?" snarled Phil.

      "I beg your pardon," said Grit good-naturedly; "I know it must be provoking to have your hat wet. Can I help you in any way? If you will give me the money, and remain in the boat, I will run up to Davis, the hatter's, and get you a new hat."

      "How can you tell my size?" asked Phil, making no acknowledgment for the offer.

      "Then I will lend you my hat to go up yourself."

      Phil's lip curled, as if he considered that there would be contamination in such a plebeian hat. However, as Marion declared it would be the best thing to do, he suppressed his disdain, and, without a word of thanks, put Grit's hat on his head.

      "Come with me, Marion," he said.

      "No, Phil; I will remain here with Mr. –," and she turned inquiringly toward the young boatman.

      "Grit," he suggested.

      "Mr. Grit," she said, finishing the sentence.

      "Just as you like. I admire your taste," said Phil, with a sneer.

      As he walked away, Marion turned to the young boatman.

      "Is your name really Grit?" she asked.

      "No; people call me so."

      "I can understand why," she answered with a smile. "You look—gritty."

      "If I do, I hope it isn't anything disagreeable," responded our hero.

      "Oh, no," said Marion; "quite the contrary. I like to see boys that won't allow themselves to be imposed upon."

      "I don't generally allow myself to be imposed upon."

      "What is your real name?"

      "Harry Morris."

      "I suppose you and Phil know each other very well?"

      "We have known each other a long time, but we are not very intimate friends."

      "I don't think Phil has any intimate friends," said Marion thoughtfully. "He—I don't think he gets on very well with the other boys."

      "He wants to boss them," said Grit bluntly.

      "Yes; I expect that is it. He's my cousin, you know."

      "Is he? I don't think you are much alike."

      "Is that remark a compliment to me—or him?" asked Marion, laughing.

      "To you, decidedly."

      "Well, Phil can be very disagreeable when he sets out to be. I should not want to be that, you know."

      "You couldn't," said Grit, with an admiring glance.

      "That's a compliment," said Marion. "But you're mistaken. I can be disagreeable when I set out to be. I expect Phil finds me so sometimes."

      "I wouldn't."

      "You know how to flatter as well as to row, Mr. Grit. It's true. I tease Phil awfully sometimes."

      By this time Phil came back with a new hat on his head, holding Grit's in the tips of his fingers, as if it would contaminate him. He pitched it into Grit's lap, saying shortly:

      "There's your hat."

      "Upon my word, Phil, you're polite," said his cousin. "Can't you thank Mr. Grit?"

      "Mr. Grit!" repeated Phil contemptuously. "Of course I thank him."

      "You're welcome," answered Grit dryly.

      "Here's your fare!" said Phil, taking out two dimes, and offering them to the young boatman.

      "Thank you."

      "Phil, you ought to pay something extra for the loan of the hat," said Marion, "and the delay."

      With evident reluctance Phil took a nickel from his vest pocket, and offered it to Grit.

      "No, thank you!" said Grit, drawing back, "I wouldn't be willing to take anything for that. I've found it very agreeable to wait," and he glanced significantly at Marion.

      "I suppose I am to consider that another compliment," said the young lady, with a coquettish glance.

      "What, has he been complimenting you?" asked Phil jealously.

      "Yes, and it was very agreeable, as I got no compliments from you. Good afternoon, Mr. Grit. I hope you will row us back by and by."

      "I hope so, too," said the young boatman, bowing.

      "Look here, Marion," said Phil, as they walked away, "you take altogether too much notice of that fellow."

      "Why do I? I am sure he is a very nice boy."

      "He is a common working boy!" snapped Phil. "He lives with his mother in a poor hut upon the bluff, and makes his living by boating."

      "I am sure that is to his credit."

      "Oh, yes, I suppose it is. So's a ditch-digger engaged in a creditable employment, but you don't treat him as an equal."

      "I should be willing to treat Grit as an equal. He is very good-looking, don't you think so, Phil?"

      "Good-looking! So is a cow good-looking."

      "I've seen some cows that were very good-looking," answered Marion, with a mischievous smile. "I suppose Grit and you are well acquainted."

      "Oh, I know him to speak to him," returned Phil loftily. "Of course, I couldn't be intimate with such a boy."

      "I was thinking," said Marion, "it would be nice to invite him round to the house to play croquet with us."

      "Invite