Three shares, at five or six dollars each, I forget which, had already been taken by Phil Adams, Fred Langdon, and Binny Wallace.  The fourth and remaining share hung fire.  Unless a purchaser could be found for this, the bargain was to fall through.

I am afraid I required but slight urging to join in the investment.  I had four dollars and fifty cents on hand, and the treasurer of the Centipedes advanced me the balance, receiving my silver pencil-case as ample security.  It was a proud moment when I stood on the wharf with my partners, inspecting the Dolphin, moored at the foot of a very slippery flight of steps.  She was painted white with a green stripe outside, and on the stern a yellow dolphin, with its scarlet mouth wide open, stared with a surprised expression at its own reflection in the water.  The boat was a great bargain.

I whirled my cap in the air, and ran to the stairs leading down from the wharf, when a hand was laid gently on my shoulder.  I turned and faced Captain Nutter.  I never saw such an old sharp-eye as he was in those days.

I knew he wouldn’t be angry with me for buying a rowboat; but I also knew that the little bowsprit suggesting a jib, and the tapering mast ready for its few square feet of canvas, were trifles not likely to meet his approval.  As far as rowing on the river, among the wharves, was concerned, the Captain had long since withdrawn his decided objections, having convinced himself, by going out with me several times, that I could manage a pair of sculls as well as anybody.

I was right in my surmises.  He commanded me, in the most emphatic terms, never to go out in the Dolphin without leaving the mast in the boat-house.  This curtailed my anticipated sport, but the pleasure of having a pull whenever I wanted it remained.  I never disobeyed the Captain’s orders touching the sail, though I sometimes extended my row beyond the points he had indicated.

The river was dangerous for sailboats.  Squalls, without the slightest warning, were of frequent occurrence; scarcely a year passed that six or seven persons were not drowned under the very windows of the town, and these, oddly enough, were generally sea-captains, who either did not understand the river, or lacked the skill to handle a small craft.

A knowledge of such disasters, one of which I witnessed, consoled me somewhat when I saw Phil Adams skimming over the water in a spanking breeze with every stitch of canvas set.  There were few better yachtsmen than Phil Adams.  He usually went sailing alone, for both Fred Langdon and Binny Wallace were under the same restrictions I was.

Not long after the purchase of the boat, we planned an excursion to Sandpeep Island, the last of the islands in the harbor.  We proposed to start early in the morning, and return with the tide in the moonlight.  Our only difficulty was to obtain a whole day’s exemption from school, the customary half-holiday not being long enough for our picnic.  Somehow, we couldn’t work it; but fortune arranged it for us.  I may say here, that, whatever else I did, I never played truant ("hookey” we called it) in my life.