Charley stepped up to the clerk of the court. "I want to pay that
fine," he said, at the same time placing five twenty-dollar gold
pieces on the desk. "It--it was the only way out of it, lad," he
stammered, turning to me.

The moisture rushed into my eyes as I seized his hand. "I want to
pay--" I began.

"To pay your half?" he interrupted. "I certainly shall expect you
to pay it."

In the meantime Demetrios had been informed by his lawyer that his
fee likewise had been paid by Charley.

Demetrios came over to shake Charley's hand, and all his warm
Southern blood flamed in his face. Then, not to be outdone in
generosity, he insisted on paying his fine and lawyer's fee
himself, and flew half-way into a passion because Charley refused
to let him.

More than anything else we ever did, I think, this action of
Charley's impressed upon the fishermen the deeper significance of
the law. Also Charley was raised high in their esteem, while I
came in for a little share of praise as a boy who knew how to sail
a boat. Demetrios Contos not only never broke the law again, but
he became a very good friend of ours, and on more than one occasion
he ran up to Benicia to have a gossip with us.