Bobby went on deck. The ocean rolled beneath them, but there was
nothing but fog to be seen above and around them. The lead was heaved
every few moments, and the steamer crept slowly along till it was
found the water shoaled rapidly, when the captain ordered the men to
let go the anchor.

There they were; the fog was as obstinate as a mule, and would not
"lift." Hour after hour they waited, for the captain was a prudent
man, and would not risk the life of those on board to save a few
hours' time. After breakfast, the passengers began to display their
uneasiness, and some of them called the captain very hard names,
because he would not go on. Almost everybody grumbled, and made
themselves miserable.

"Nothing to do and nothing to read," growled a nicely-dressed
gentleman, as he yawned and stretched himself to manifest his
sensation of _ennui_.

"Nothing to read, eh?" thought Bobby. "We will soon supply that want."

Calling Tom, they went down to the main deck where the baggage had
been placed.

"Now's our time," said he, as he proceeded to unlock one of the trunks
that contained his books. "Now or never."

"I am with you," replied Tom, catching the idea.

The books of the latter were in a box, and he was obliged to get a
hammer to open it; but with Bobby's assistance he soon got at them.

"Buy 'The Wayfarer,'" said Bobby, when he returned to the saloon, and
placed a volume in the hands of the yawning gentleman. "Best book of
the season; only one dollar."

"That I will, and glad of the chance," replied the gentleman. "I would
give five dollars for anything, if it were only the 'Comic Almanac.'"

Others were of the same mind. There was no present prospect that the
fog would lift, and before dinner time our merchant had sold fifty
copies of "The Wayfarer." Tom, whose books were of an inferior
description, and who was inexperienced as a salesman, disposed of
twenty, which was more than half of his stock. The fog was a godsend
to both of them, and they reaped a rich harvest from the occasion, for
almost all the passengers seemed willing to spend their money freely
for the means of occupying the heavy hours and driving away that
dreadful _ennui_ which reigns supreme in a fog-bound steamer.

About the middle of the afternoon, the fog blew over, and the boat
proceeded on her voyage, and before sunset our young merchants were
safely landed at Bath.

CHAPTER XVII

IN WHICH TOM HAS A GOOD TIME, AND BOBBY