“Six dollars.”

“Too much.  I’ll give five.”

“You can have it,” said Phil after a pause.  “How soon can you let me have the money?”

“Bring the gun round to-night, and I’ll pay you for it.”

“All right.  Do you know of any one who wants to buy a boat?”

“What?  Going to sell that, too?”

“Yes.”

“Seems to me you’re closin’ up business?” said Reuben shrewdly.

“So I am.  I’m going to leave Planktown.”

“You don’t say?  Well, I declare!  Where are you goin’?”

“To New York, I guess.”

“Got any prospect there?”

“Yes.”

This was not, perhaps, strictly true—­that is, Phil had no definite prospect, but he felt that there must be a chance in a large city like New York for any one who was willing to work, and so felt measurably justified in saying what he did.

“I hadn’t thought of buyin’ a boat,” said Reuben thoughtfully.

Phil pricked up his ears at the hint of a possible customer.

“You’d better buy mine,” he said quickly; “I’ll sell it cheap.”

“How cheap?”

“Ten dollars.”

“That’s too much.”

“It cost me fifteen.”

“But it’s second-hand now, you know,” said Reuben.

“It’s just as good as new.  I’m taking off five dollars, though, you see.”

“I don’t think I want it enough to pay ten dollars.”

“What will you give?”

Reuben finally agreed to pay seven dollars and seventy-five cents, after more or less bargaining, and to pay the money that evening upon delivery of the goods.

“I don’t think I’ve got anything more to sell,” said Phil thoughtfully. 
“There’s my skates, but they are not very good.  I’ll give them to Tommy
Kavanagh.  He can’t afford to buy a pair.”

Tommy was the son of a poor widow, and was very much pleased with the gift, which Phil conveyed to him just before supper.

Just after supper he took his gun and the key of his boat over to Reuben Gordon, who thereupon gave him the money agreed upon.

“Shall I tell Mrs. Brent I am going away?” Phil said to himself, “or shall I leave a note for her?”

He decided to announce his resolve in person.  To do otherwise would seem too much like running away, and that he had too much self-respect to do.

So in the evening, after his return from Reuben Gordon’s, he said to Mrs. Brent: 

“I think I ought to tell you that I’m going away to-morrow.”

Mrs. Brent looked up from her work, and her cold gray eyes surveyed Phil with curious scrutiny.

“You are going away!” she replied.  “Where are you going?”

“I think I shall go to New York.”

“What for?”

“Seek my fortune, as so many have done before me.”

“They didn’t always find it!” said Mrs. Brent with a cold sneer.  “Is there any other reason?”