The boys went away, clinking three big silver dollars, a fifty-cent piece, and a dime, and passing the money from hand to hand, admiringly. “That never seemed like very much money to me before,” said Harvey, thoughtfully. “It makes a difference whether you earn it or not—and how, doesn’t it?” “It’s all right for the first day,” said Henry Burns. “We’ll do better as we get the hang of it. And then later, if we get a catch of mackerel on the first run of the fish, why, we’ve got the boat to make a fast trip over to Stoneland, and sell them to the hotel. There’ll be money in that.” The next morning, beating out of the harbour early, they had an unpleasant experience. They had anchored off the dock at the head of the harbour, and had just begun to work their way out through the channel, which was there quite narrow, against a light southwest breeze. Henry Burns had the wheel, with Harvey tending sheet, and Tom and Bob working the single jib that they had set. A little way ahead of them a boat was coming in, running free. “There’s our friend,” remarked Henry Burns, noting the pinkey’s sharp, queer stern. “It’s old Martel coming in from under-running his hake-trawls. We’ll try to keep clear of him.” But it seemed this was not wholly possible. The _Viking_ was standing up to clear a buoy a short distance ahead, which marked the channel, and would just barely fetch by it if she was not headed off any. It became apparent soon, however, that the skipper of the pinkey was heading so that, if one or the other did not give way, there would be a collision. “Better give him the horn,” suggested Tom, as the boys watched the oncoming boat. “No, I don’t think we need to,” said Henry Burns. “They see us. Look, there they are pointing. Old Martel knows what he is doing. It’s just a case of bullying. We’ve got the right of way over a boat running free, and he knows it.” “That’s right, Henry,” exclaimed Harvey. “We might as well show him we know our rights. Keep her on her course, and don’t give way an inch.” There was plenty of water on the pinkey’s starboard hand, and the course was free there; but for the _Viking_ to head off the wind meant failure to clear the buoy, and another tack, with loss of time. It was all a mere trifle, of course, but they knew the skipper of the pinkey was trying to crowd them; and they were bound to stand on their rights. The pinkey came up perilously close; then, just barely in time, sheered off so that its boom almost came aboard the _Viking_. Henry Burns, unmoved, had held the _Viking_ close into the wind, without giving way an inch even when it had looked as though the two boats must come together. “We might as well fight it out right now with old Martel,” he said, quietly. “Perhaps he will let us alone if he finds we’re not afraid of him.”