“No; a dollar is all they are worth to me.”
“Very well. When do you want more?”
“Any time next week,” replied the flour-merchant, handing over the twenty-one dollars that were due me.
“All right. I’ll be over Tuesday. Want anything else?”
“Not for the present. Trade is rather slow.”
Putting the money in my pocket-book, I entered my sloop again, and steered for the hotel wharf. I found Mr. Markham already awaiting me.
“Just tie up here and come with me,” he said.
I did so, and we walked along the principal street of Bayport, which at this hour of the day was nearly deserted.
“I am going to the bank on business,” he went on with a twinkle in his eye. “This is my last day here, and I want to draw out the deposit I made for convenience’s sake when I came.”
I did not see what this had to do with me, but said nothing.