The next day, spent in running up the coast with a brisk westerly breeze, was one of the happiest that can come to the in-shore fisherman. Everybody was in the best of humor, from the knowledge that they had, stowed beneath their hatches, a fair-sized catch of the very earliest mackerel of the season. They knew these would bring an extra price, and pay each of them at least twice as much as they would make under more ordinary circumstances. There was little to do except stand watch and clean ship; so that most of the day was devoted to the spinning of yarns in the forecastle, and the singing of songs to a banjo accompaniment in the cabin. The cook made them a great dish of Joe-floggers (peculiar pancakes stuffed with plums) for breakfast, and a gorgeous plum-duff for dinner. Upon the whole, Breeze enjoyed the day so thoroughly that he wondered how anybody could complain of the hardships of a fisherman’s life, or think it anything but fascinating. They passed the double Highland lights, and rounding Sandy Hook, stood up New York Bay some time during the following night; the next morning, by daylight, they were snugly moored in the Fulton Market slip, among scores of other fishing vessels, none of which had on board a single mackerel. Theirs was the first catch of the season, and before breakfast-time it had been sold in bulk for three thousand dollars. Of this, after expenses were deducted, each full share amounted to ninety-two dollars, while the half share credited to Breeze was forty-six dollars. This seemed to him a large sum of money to have been earned in a week, only one day and night of which had been devoted to real hard work. He at once wrote to his mother telling her the good news, and as he did so he felt that he had become, if not an important member of society, at least a very wealthy one. In the afternoon he took a short walk through the lower part of the great city, but became so bewildered by the noise, bustle, and crowds of people that he dared not go very far for fear of getting lost. On one of the downtown streets that he did visit he was attracted by the sight of a jeweller’s window. This reminded him of what his mother had said, that if anybody could open the golden ball that hung from the chain around his neck it would be a city jeweller. Entering the store, he stepped up to an elderly gentleman who stood behind a desk, and unclasping the chain, handed it and the ball to him, saying, “I don’t know whether this ball will open or not; can you tell me, sir?” The jeweller examined the trinket carefully, and seemed particularly interested in the unique tracery with which it was ornamented. For several minutes he did not speak; then he asked, abruptly, “Where did you get this?” Breeze told him in a few words all that he knew of its history as well as his own. “H’m,” said the jeweller. “You wait here a moment, while I show this to my partner.”