But things were more often done hurriedly than shipshape at the Southport landing. The steamer’s crew had all they could do usually to land freight and get it out quickly enough, so that the boat could go on down the bay without losing time. The line thrown to the wharf was usually caught by the village storekeeper, who had little time to spare, or by whatever man or boy happened to be standing near at hand. The boat’s rule was seldom obeyed. Scarcely any one ever took the trouble to coil up the small rope and throw it back. When the hawsers were cast off they fell into the water, regardless of the fact that they thereby got wet and became heavier, dragging the small ropes after them, and were hauled aboard as the boat steamed away. The steamer having, on this occasion, been made fast to the wharf and the gangplank put out, Squire Brackett crossed it, dragging his purchase behind him,—the purchase skulking very unwillingly across the plank and showing its teeth at the crowd upon the wharf. The squire hated and despised boys, and made it a point to ignore them whenever it was possible. For this very reason they delighted to annoy him by hailing him whenever they met him. Young Joe Warren had a way of driving the squire nearly into fits by pretending to mistake him for one Captain Kendrick, who was the bitterest enemy the squire had, and then always apologizing for his mistake by explaining to the squire that he could not tell them apart. “Good morning, Squire Brackett, glad to see you back again!” cried Henry Burns, in the heartiest fashion imaginable, as the squire stepped on to the wharf. “Humph! Morning—morning,” grunted the squire, as he eyed Henry Burns suspiciously. Henry Burns smiled most affably, as though the squire had been his dearest friend and adviser. “Why, how do you do, squire?” said George Warren, cordially. Squire Brackett scowled angrily at him, but answered, “How d’ye do?” as short as he could. Just then young Joe made his appearance. “How are you, Captain Kendrick?” he bawled, loud enough to be heard all over the wharf. The crowd began to smile, and young Joe added, hastily: “Oh, I beg pardon, Squire Brackett—always take you for Cap’n Kendrick—strange how you do look so much alike.” “You little idiot,” yelled the choleric squire, “I’d Cap’n Kendrick you with a rawhide, if I had the say of you,—insulting an honest man with a name like that,—every one of you ought to be in State prison. And you, you’re the worst one of all, Jack Harvey,” pointing to the latter, who had just come upon the wharf. “And you, too!” shaking his fist at Tom and Bob. “You’re sly, but you’ll get caught yet. You’re a pack of young rascals, every one of you. Don’t any of you come around my house, if you don’t want to be chewed up. Here, you brute! Quit that!” The dog had snapped viciously at a child that ran past, causing her to scream with fear. Just then the freight-agent called out to the squire: