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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Can you tow us to New York?" asked Elisha, who had brought up the chronometer and placed it on the house, ready to take morning sights for his longitude if the sun should appear. "No; not unless I sacrifice the barges an' lose my contract wi' the city. They're garbage-scows, an' I haven't power enough to hook on to another. Just got coal enough to get in."
You know, all these combine rumors this bunk about Germany buyin' up plants wholesale, and the grand scrabble to fill all them whackin' big foreign orders, with steamer charters about as numerous as twin baby carriages along Riverside Drive. Why, say, at one time there you could have sold us ferryboats or garbage-scows, we was so hungry for anything that would carry ocean freights.
Moored to her, one on each side, were two garbage-scows; and at the head of the parade, pretending to tow them all, puffing, rolling, and smoking in the effort to keep a strain on the tow-line, and tooting joyously with her whistle, was a little, dingy tugboat, with a large gilt name on her pilot-house J. C. Hawks.
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