pushed it down
the bank so that it would float. I picked up the boat-hook, which lay
on the ground, because I thought it was not a proper place to leave it.
With this implement in my hand, I stepped lightly into the boat.

"I told you not to come on board of my boat," said Mr. Waterford,
angrily.

"I know you did. I am sorry to intrude, but I must. If you will land
Miss Collingsby, I will relieve you of my company."

"I will not land Miss Collingsby. Now get out of this boat!" he added,
taking up one of the oars.

"You must excuse me."

"I'll excuse you," cried he, rushing upon me with the oar.

[Illustration: PHIL FIGHTS WITH BEN WATERFORD. Page 217.]

I defended myself with the boat-hook, and being the cooler of the two,
I did so with tolerable success. He struck and thrust furiously with
his weapon, till he was out of breath; and I was also, besides having
had two or three hard raps on the head and arms with his weapon. A
desperate lunge knocked me over backwards, and I fell over the bow of
the boat upon the beach. I felt that I was defeated, and that I had
promised Miss Collingsby more than I had thus far been able to perform.
With this advantage over me, Mr. Waterford pushed me back with the oar,
and then endeavored to shove off the tender.

My catastrophe seemed to have defeated all my good intentions; and as I
went over, I heard Miss Collingsby utter a shrill scream, as though she
were the sufferer, instead of myself, as, indeed, she was likely to be.

CHAPTER XIX.

IN WHICH PHIL PROFITS BY CIRCUMSTANCES, AND WEIGHS ANCHOR IN THE
MARIAN.

More than once in my eventful career I have realized that neither
success nor defeat is what it appears to be. While Mr. Ben Waterford
was congratulating himself upon the victory he had apparently achieved,
and I was mourning over the defeat involved in my catastrophe, neither
of us had foreseen the end. Miss Collingsby appeared to be the greatest
sufferer; and the scream with which she announced my defeat was only
the echo of my own feelings. As the battle was really her own, rather
than mine, of course my misfortune was the greater catastrophe to her.

I lay upon my back on the ground, just as I had tumbled over the bow of
the tender. But I did not lie there any great length of time--perhaps
not the hundredth part of a second. But there are times when one can
think of a great deal in the hundredth part of a second; and I am sure
my thoughts were very bus