“His son is in, Mr. William Martyn, if that will do,” the servant said, seeing the boy’s look of dismay.
“I don’t know,” he said; “but at any rate I should like to see him.”
“I will tell him, sir, if you will stay here.”
A minute later a tall powerfully-built young fellow of two or three-and-twenty came to the door.
“Well, youngster, what is it?” he asked.
“I have come about buying a boat, sir. My name is Beveridge. I believe Captain Martyn was kind enough to say that he would look out for a boat for us.”
“Oh, yes, I have heard about it; but whether it was a dinghy or a man-of-war that was wanted we couldn’t find out. Do you intend to manage her single-handed?”
“Oh, no, sir! I have done a lot of sailing with the fishermen at Seaport, but I could not manage a boat by myself, not if there was any wind. But Marco was a sailor among the Greek isles before he entered my father’s service.”
“Want a comfortable craft,” the Greek, who had learned to speak a certain amount of English, said. “Can have two or three hands.”
“Oh, you want a regular cruiser! Well, you are a lucky young chap, I must say. The idea of a young cub like you having a boat with two or three hands to knock about in! Do you want a captain, because I am to let?”