onvenience and comfort were added to their outfits.

Percy regarded it all in the light of a huge lark. Dressing himself in
oilskins and rubber boots, he paraded up and down the store, much to the
proprietor's disgust.

"Pretty fresh, isn't he?" remarked Parker to Jim. "After he's been out
in two or three storms he'll find those clothes aren't so much of a
joke."

The party's purchases were sent down to the steamboat wharf, to be added
to the baggage already there. The boys followed, Percy swaggering
superciliously along after the others, with his eternal cigarette.

Captain Nemo, towing behind Spurling on his leash, got in Percy's way,
and the boy stepped on his foot. Nemo yelped, then growled and bristled.

"Get out, you cur!" exclaimed Percy, launching a kick at the beast.

"Easy, Whittington!" warned Spurling. "A dog doesn't forget. You don't
want to make an enemy of him at the start."

"Enemy?" sneered Percy. "What do I care for that mangy cur! It'll teach
him to keep out of my way."

Jim bit his lip, but said nothing. In a few minutes they were on the
wharf.

A wiry, dark-complexioned lad of perhaps fifteen stood near the
steamboat slip. He wore a faded suit of blue serge, a gray-flannel shirt
with red necker-chief, and a soft black hat. His olive face and black
eyes bespoke the Italian. Spurling and the others glanced at him
casually; their interest was centered on assembling and loading their
flotilla.

"There's the _Barracouta!_" said Jim, pointing to a sloop moored a
hundred yards away. "And there's Stinson's pea-pod tied to her stern.
That yellow dory up on the ledge must be Uncle Tom's. He said we'd find
her oars and fittings at Haskell's boatshop."

Soon pea-pod and dory were being loaded beside the wharf. The young
Italian had come to the string-piece, and was watching the embarkation.
Jim saw that tears were trickling down his cheeks.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

The boy turned away, his breast heaving. Jim tossed the painter to Lane.

"Look out for the boat a minute, Budge! I want to find what the trouble
is with that young fellow."

The lad had stepped across the wharf and was gazing sadly down into the
water. Jim touched his shoulder.

"Don't you feel well, son?"

The kindly words had a surprising effect--the lad burst into tears. Jim
tried to soothe him.

"There, there! It can't be so bad as all that! Tell me about it."

Little by little the boy's story came out. He was a S