than before; but as his mind was fixed upon something else, he did not
demand further explanation.

"Fifty dollars," said he; "how much will that be apiece. Thirteen into
fifty; can any of you fellers cipher that up in your heads?"

"Three and eleven thirteenths dollars each," said William Bright, who
pulled the next oar forward of Tim. "Three dollars and eighty-five
cents--isn't it?"

"Eighty-four and a fraction," replied Fred, with schoolboy accuracy.

"A feller could have a good time on that, I'll bet," ejaculated Tim.

"And many a poor man would like it to buy bread for his family," added
Frank. "But there is the Butterfly!"

Tim Bunker dropped his oar at this announcement, and was on the point of
rising to get a better view of the Zephyr's rival, when the handle of
William Bright's oar gave him a smart rap in the back.

"Mind out!" said Tim. "Don't you know any better than to hit a feller in
that way?"

"Cease--rowing!" called Frank, as he saw Tim's first involuntarily
double up, and his eye flash with anger.

"It was your fault, Tim, and you must not blame him," added the
coxswain, mildly, but firmly.