“Who bought your boat?”
“Feller by the name of Peters, who runs a fish business down on East River near Brooklyn bridge. I knew him years ago. His 303 wife’s name is Jennie, and I named my boat after her ’cause he was the first man to help me sail her.”
“Why did you go to him without first telling me?”
“There wa’n’t no time to tell no one. You’d not likely–––”
“Oh, you men! You treat us women as if we were numskulls. If you had given me the slightest idea that you intended to sell I should have put in my bid along with others.”
“Do you mean you would have bought my Jennie P.?”
“Why not, pray tell? Haven’t I as much right to own a boat as any man you know?”
“I do believe you’d have bought her, sartin as death!”
“Of course I should. If–––” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Why did you sell?”
“Same as I said afore, I didn’t have no need of her, and she was getting expensive to keep up.” His face darkened, and an expression of pain shot through the shadows.