"I'd like it first-rate, but just now I don't see how I could accept," he replied.
"If it's a question of wages—" began the young man, who was watching the various expressions flit over Darry's face with an eager eye.
"Not at all. I was only thinking of my duty to Abner Peake and his wife, who have been so good to me. Perhaps later on I might accept, providing you have not already filled the place."
"I suppose you know best, but somehow I've taken a notion I'd like to have you along with me, Darry. For a week or two I mean to just knock around here, sometimes ashore and again afloat. Perhaps when the shooting begins in earnest you may be able to give me a different answer."
"At any rate by that time I shall know more about the bay and the habits of the ducks that drop in here. I'm a stranger, you see, Mr. Singleton, and though I've done some hunting in India and other places where our ship lay at anchor for weeks, I know little about this sport. I can cook as well as the next fellow, and of course know something about boats, though more used to sails than gasoline."
"You're too modest, Darry. Some chaps would have jumped at the chance to have a fine time. But I like you all the better for it. I see you are in a hurry, so I won't detain you any longer. It's understood then that if you can get off later you'll come to me?"
"I'll only be too glad to do so, Mr. Singleton," was Darry's answer.
The young fellow thrust out his hand, while his gaze still-remained riveted on Darry's face.
As the boy walked rapidly away, feeling a sense of overpowering delight at the prospect ahead if all things went well, something caused him to glance back, and he saw Paul Singleton shaking his head while sauntering toward the village, as if something puzzled him greatly.
Darry could not understand what ailed the other, or how anything about his appearance should attract so fine a young gentleman.