“That’s not a canoe; she’s painted, and has got a bowsprit. I know what it is. Charlie has built another boat, and he’s showing off in her. That’s it; I know it is. Good on his head.”
“I thought he’d give up after the other one split in two.”
“Give up! Them words ain’t in his dictionary. If you want Charlie to do a thing, just trig the wheels, and tell him he can’t. I know that’s it, for I’ve suspected it all along.”
“What made you suspect it?”
“A good many things. In the first place, I overheard him say to John, when he came out of the water, the day they got spilt, ‘If I live, I’ll build a boat that won’t split in two;’ and I know he never gives up anything. Another thing, he and I have always been very thick: whenever we’ve met, he has always urged me to come over to the island; but this summer he has never asked me once. Then the last time we were at Portland, there was some privacy going on between John and Joe, that they didn’t mean I should know; there was a great long box that went to Elm Island. I know there was paint in it by the smell, and it was paint for that boat; that’s what it was, though I don’t see what it was so long for.”
The strange craft was now in full view, coming down before the wind and tide, like a race horse. There was evidently but one person in her, and he was hidden by the sails. Presently the helmsman altered his course a little, and jibing the mainsail, exposed himself to view.
“It’s Charlie,” cried Henry. “O, ain’t he a happy boy this minute? See how straight he sits; and isn’t she a beauty? How long she is! tremendous long!”
“How handsome she’s painted!” said Sam. “I wish he would come here.”
“He will; he’s going alongside of Captain Rhines, and then he’ll come here.”
But, contrary to Henry’s opinion, Charlie kept to leeward of the whole fleet of canoes, and stood right out to sea. He then hauled his wind, and brought both his sails on one side, Sam said, “to show himself.”