Tom, of course, did not believe that his plan for obtaining possession of the yacht would prove unsuccessful, but still he felt rather anxious about it, for the failure of his lottery scheme had made him timid. Mr. Graves noticed that there was something wrong with him, and as they ascended to the deck he inquired:

"What's the matter with you? If I was in your place, and knew that I was soon to be the owner of this fine little vessel, I'd be livelier than you are! Are you sea-sick?"

Tom thought this as good an opportunity as he should have to try his new plan; so he summoned all his courage to his aid, and replied:

"O, no! It is something worse than that!"

"Worse than sea-sickness!" repeated Mr. Graves. "Then it must be something bad. You have nothing to trouble you!"

"O, now, yes I have!" drawled Tom. "I've seen more trouble than any other boy in the whole world!"

The boat-builder looked at Tom a moment, to see if he was really in earnest, and then burst into a loud laugh. "Why, what have you to worry about?" he asked. "You have no hard work to do, like many boys of your age in the village; you have a rich father who gives you every thing you want; you live in a fine house; you own the prettiest little pony in the country, and, besides, you are master of a vessel that can't be beaten by any thing of her size in America. I think your lot in life a very pleasant one."

"I have my disappointments as well as other people," said Tom, leading Mr. Graves out of ear-shot of the man at the wheel. "You know I told you last night that I had your money in my pocket?"

"Yes, I recollect!" said the boat-builder.

"Well, I was mistaken!" said Tom, in a low voice, turning away his head to hide the tears that started to his eyes.

"You were mistaken!" repeated Mr. Graves, who little imagined what Tom was trying to get at.

"Yes, I haven't got a red cent."

"Why, is that the cause of your trouble?" asked the boat-builder, with another laugh. "That is very easily got over. Go to your father and ask him for seventy-five cents, or a dollar, and, if he thinks you need it, I know you'll get it."

"O, now, I want more than that!" drawled Tom. "A dollar would be of no use to me!"

"But what has all this got to do with the Storm King?" asked Mr. Graves.

"It's got a great deal to do with it. I can't own the sloop till I pay for her, can I?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, how can I pay for her without money? I am dead broke!"

Mr. Graves threw back his head, looked up at the cross-trees, and laughed louder than ever. "That's a good one!" said he. "Your father, a man who owns three-fourths of all the vessels that sail from this port, is out of money! Who ever heard of such a thing!"

"O, now, who said any thing about my father?" drawled Tom. "I was talking about myself! I didn't mention his name!"

"I can't see the point!" said the boat-builder, who had all the while been under the impression that Tom had ordered the Storm King with his father's permission, and that when she was completed the merchant would be the one to settle the bill. "I don't know what you mean!"

"I mean just what I say!" replied Tom, beginning to believe that Mr. Graves was very dull of comprehension. "I mean that I have no money to pay for the yacht now; but, if you will let me have her, I'll settle with you in two or three weeks. I'll give you my note to that effect."

"O, that's the trouble, is it?" said Mr. Graves, who appeared to be highly amused. "Don't let it bother you any longer. I can wait!"

Tom could scarcely believe his ears. He sprang down from the rail where he had been sitting, and seizing Mr. Graves by both hands he danced about over the deck like one demented.

"You are the best man I ever saw," said he, as soon as he could speak. "I'll never forget your kindness, and I hope that I shall some day be able to repay it! Just think of it! I am master of this magnificent vessel! If you have no objections, I'll take command of her now!"

"All right!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who appeared to be quite as much excited as Tom himself. "You be captain, and I'll be first-mate."

"Very well!" said Tom, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and taking a few turns across the deck. "Mr. Graves, we will extend our cruise around Block Island. Shake out that gaff-topsail, and hoist the flying-jib, if you please."

"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the first-mate. "And then, with your permission, I will order dinner. I am hungry."

Mr. Graves, having tested the sloop to his satisfaction, had shaped her course toward the village; and, as the breeze was freshening, had ordered some of the sails taken in. But, upon receiving Tom's instructions, he put the vessel about, the flying-jib and gaff-topsail were given to the wind, and the Storm King began her cruise around the island. Then he returned to Tom, who was pacing up and down the deck, to report that his orders had been obeyed, and that dinner would be ready in half an hour. The new captain was in ecstasies, and he found it all he could do to refrain from shouting. When the boat-builder came up, he again seized him by the hand, exclaiming—

"I knew all the time that this yacht would belong to me! Won't the boys in the village be astonished?"

"Certainly they will," said Mr. Graves, "and every one of them will wish themselves in your boots!"

"Then you are really willing to take my note!" said Tom, who found it difficult to believe that one of his glorious plans had proved a success. "You are not afraid to trust me for a short time?"

"Of course not! Why should I be when I know that the money is as safe in your hands as it is in my own? Have your note indorsed by your father, and I'll wait until——Why, what's the matter now?"

Again Tom's bright hopes were dashed to the ground. Rudely jerking his hand from the boat-builder's grasp, he staggered back against the rail, and drawled out:

"O, now, I didn't say any thing about my father, I tell you! He's got nothing whatever to do with this business!"

"What's that you say?" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who now thought that he began to understand the matter.

"I say that my father has nothing to do with this boat," repeated Tom, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Then who is to pay for her?"

"I, myself, individually, and nobody else!"

"Whew!" whistled Mr. Graves, growing more and more astonished. "Where do you expect to get four hundred dollars, if your father doesn't give it to you?"

"That's my own business! I'll have it in a very short time, and I'll get it honestly, too."

"Then your father doesn't know any thing about this business?"

"O no, he doesn't!"

"And you had the assurance to order me to build you a boat worth four hundred dollars without first consulting him?" continued Mr. Graves.

"Yes, I did!" answered Tom; "and if you will let me have her, I will certainly pay for her in two or three weeks! I sent for the money several days ago, but it hasn't come yet."

Mr. Graves had never been more astonished in his life. He looked at his customer as if he could hardly believe that he had told him the truth, and finally inquired—

"What kind of a boy are you, anyhow?"

"O, I'm the most unlucky boy in the whole world! That's the kind of a boy I am!" drawled Tom. "I never can do any thing like other fellows, for something is always happening to bother me."

"I think you can do a good many things that other fellows can't do!" returned Mr. Graves. "There is not another boy in the village who would have the impudence to do as you have done."

As the boat-builder said this, he turned on his heel and left Tom to think the matter over at his leisure. He gave a few orders in a low tone to the man at the wheel, and then walked forward and descended into the galley. Presently he came out again, gave some instructions to his crew, and Tom saw the sloop slowly come about until her bow pointed toward the village. The sails which Captain Newcombe had ordered spread, were taken in again, and then Mr. Graves began to pace thoughtfully up and down the deck.

Tom watched all these movements as well as he could through eyes filled with tears of vexation and disappointment, and they told him, in language too plain to be misunderstood, that his new plan, which, at first, had promised to succeed even beyond his expectations, had failed like all the rest of his glorious ideas. He felt like yelling; and, perhaps he would thus have given vent to his troubled feelings if the presence of Mr. Graves and his crew had not restrained him. He wanted to hide his emotion from them, so he leaned over the rail and looked down into the water. He would have gone into the cabin, but the boat-builder evidently intended to keep him out of there, for he had locked the door and put the key into his pocket.

Poor Tom was in a terrible predicament. Aside from the troubles occasioned by the non-receipt of his twenty-five hundred dollars, and the failure of his new plan to obtain possession of the yacht—both of which were very severe blows to him—he had the satisfaction of knowing that the very dignified manner in which he had conducted himself in the morning, when he believed himself to be the owner of the Storm King, had made him a great many enemies among the village boys, who, when they learned all the particulars of his business transaction with Mr. Graves, would never allow him to hear the last of it. He knew just what was in store for him, for he had already had some very bitter experience in that line. When the secrets of the "Gentlemen's Club" were revealed to the world, Tom had been tormented almost beyond the bounds of endurance; for every "Spooney" who met him on the street would raise his hat and politely make inquiries concerning the health of the President, and the prosperity of his society. Now, if such a thing was possible, matters would be tenfold worse. He would be known throughout the village as Captain Newcombe, and every one of his acquaintances, especially Johnny Harding, the boy with whom Tom was particularly desirous to "get even," would want to know something about his fine yacht. They would be very anxious to learn how she sailed, and would write notes to him requesting the privilege of accompanying him on some of his excursions. The affair would soon be known by every man, woman, and child in the village—he could see no way to prevent it—and every body would laugh at him, and wonder why he did not ask his father's permission before he ordered the yacht, and where he intended to get the money to pay for her. In short, Tom was afraid that during the next six or eight months, Newport would be a very unpleasant place to live, and he forthwith set his wits at work to conjure up some plan to get out of it.

While he was thinking the matter over, the sloop was rapidly approaching the village, and presently Tom looked up and found that she was entering the harbor. Almost the first man he saw was his father, who stood on the wharf, behind his office, regarding the little vessel as if he was greatly interested in her. Something told Tom that the merchant had already learned that his son was the supposed owner of the sloop, and he felt like crying again when he thought of what was yet to come. Mr. Newcombe, of course, would want to know all about it; and Tom, as usual, would have been very glad indeed to have been able to avoid the interview.

The men on the wharves waved their hats as the sloop passed along, but neither Tom nor Mr. Graves returned the salutation. They were both too busy with their own thoughts to notice what was going on around them. In a quarter of an hour the Storm King reached the ship-yard, and the boat-builder, after giving his crew orders to see that every thing was snug on board before they left, stepped into a yawl, which one of his men brought out to take him ashore, and motioned to Tom to follow him. Since learning that his customer was unable to pay for the sloop, he had not spoken a word to him. While he believed that Tom had four hundred dollars in his pocket, he had been very polite to him, and showed him every attention in his power. He had allowed him to take command of the yacht, had appointed himself first-mate, and condescended to obey his orders, and had even instructed the cook to prepare a dinner which he had provided at his own expense. But when the facts of the case were revealed to him, Tom suddenly fell very low in his estimation. He speedily relieved him of the captaincy without one word of excuse or apology, countermanded his orders concerning the dinner, and then left Tom to take care of himself; believing, no doubt, that a boy whose pockets were empty was not worth noticing. Tom was not so blind as to allow these slights to escape his attention, and they cut him to the quick. He determined, from that day forward, to treat Mr. Graves with the contempt he deserved; and to show him that his failure to pay for the yacht had not lessened his claims to respect. Drawing himself up very stiffly, he leisurely climbed down into the yawl, and taking his stand upon one of the thwarts, he looked straight toward the shore, utterly ignoring the presence of the boat-builder, who, in the hope of learning something of the plans Tom had in view for raising the four hundred dollars, made several attempts to enter into conversation with him. The moment the yawl touched the beach Tom sprang out and walked rapidly toward the gate, where, to his astonishment and vexation, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the same boys who had seen him start on his voyage in the morning. They appeared to be intensely delighted about something, and Tom was afraid that his secret was already known.

"How are you, captain!" cried Johnny Harding. "That's a splendid little craft of yours!"

"She is, indeed!" replied Tom, who resolved to "stick it out" as long as possible. "She's the finest boat about Newport. She sails like lightning, and is fitted up like a parlor."

"I suppose she belongs to you!" said another.

"Now, didn't I tell you this morning that she was mine?" asked Tom.

"There's a screw loose somewhere, captain," said Johnny. "I asked your father what that yacht cost you, and he said he wasn't aware that you owned her."

Tom was right in his suspicions. The boys knew all about it, and so did his father. Drawing in a long breath, and shutting his teeth hard to choke back his feelings, he pushed his way through the crowd, and started homeward at a rapid pace, not, however, without a few parting remarks from the boys.

"Hard-a-starboard, there, captain!" shouted one.

"O, now, I always was an unlucky boy," said another, exactly imitating Tom's lazy, drawling way of talking.

"The next time you go to sea in that beautiful yacht of yours, captain, we will go with you, if you will be good enough to send us word!"

Tom heard all these and a good many more exclamations; but he kept steady on his way, looking neither to the right nor left, and finally reached his home without having been so unfortunate as to meet any more of his acquaintances. He ran hastily up the stairs to his room, and, after he had closed and locked the door, he threw himself upon his bed, and found relief for his pent-up feelings in a copious flood of tears.