"On the Quay," replied Murray in a voice that neither encouraged nor discouraged.
"Where," asked Keith eagerly.
"Corner of St. John's Lane."
"That's my corner," cried Keith. "I live in the lane, and we have the same way home."
"All right," was Murray's only answer, which Keith accepted in the affirmative.
Little more was said until they reached the top of the hill above Carl Johan Square, when Keith explained that he always kept to the left along the shore of Lake Maelaren.
"I always take the other way," rejoined Murray, suiting his actions to his words.
"All right," said Keith in his turn, going along toward the saltwater side of the harbour as if it had been the route of his own choice. They stopped for a moment to watch the sloops in the fish market loaded almost to the point of foundering with live fish. Further out a number of large sailing vessels rode at anchor. Still further away, where the southern shore drew close to the point of the island with the turreted red fort, a big black steamer was seen slowly creeping toward its landing place at the Quay. For a moment Murray studied it intently, shading his eyes in sailor fashion to see better.
"That's one of our steamers," he said at last.
"Do you mean you own it," gasped Keith incredulously.