"No number of dollars you can name. I don't care to risk my boat and twenty-five or thirty lives knocking round the Penobscot Bay ledges on a night like this. But I'll be glad to take you all over to Matinicus to-morrow for nothing."
"That won't do. We've got to reach the mainland to-night. I'll give you fifty dollars. Come, now!"
Jim shook his head.
"Seventy-five! No? A hundred, then! What d'you say?"
"No use!" replied Jim. "I told you so at first."
The stranger eyed him a moment, then stepped aside to parley again with the others. The colloquy was even more spirited than before. Captain Sykes swung his arms like a crazy man. He pointed to the sky, then to the sea, then to the voiceless score, huddled together, sheep-like, on the beach. Back came the speaker again, a nervous decision in his manner.
"If you won't set us over yourself, what'll you sell that sloop for? Give you two hundred dollars!"
Reading refusal in the lad's face, he raised the bid before Jim had time to open his lips.
"Three hundred! We've some passengers who must get to a certain place at a particular time, and they can't do it unless we can land 'em before daylight to-morrow. Say four hundred!"
"That sloop isn't for sale."