“You have got her pretty well up the cove,” I added.
The man scowled even deeper than before.
“See here, what business is that of yours?” he demanded. “Reckon I can take my boat where I please.”
“I suppose you can; I only asked. I reckon I can do that.”
“I drew the boat up because I’m busy painting her, and this is a good spot to do it.”
“Do you live here?” I went on, more to gain time to think than for any desire to know.
“Sometimes. I’ve got a sort of a house here, and another over to the shore yonder. I own this island.”
This last assertion I knew to be a falsehood. I had on my good clothes out of respect to my father’s memory, and he evidently took me for one of the summer boarders.
“I should like to see your boat,” I ventured.