“But with a good crew, uncle.”
“Yes; I want the best schooner and the best crew that are to be had, my boy.”
“But it will cost a lot of money, uncle.”
“Yes, Pickle; but I am proud to say that the Government has not been mean in that respect, and if what they have granted me is not enough, I shall put as many hundreds as are required out of my own pocket to make up the deficiency, so that in all probability I shan’t have a penny to leave you, Pickle, when I die.”
“When you die!” cried the boy scornfully. “Who wants you to die? And who wants you to leave me any money? I say, Uncle Paul, who’s talking nonsense now?”
“How dare you, sir!”
“Then you shouldn’t say such things, uncle. Talking about dying! There will be plenty of time to talk about that in a hundred years.”
“Well, that’s a very generous allowance, Pickle, and if we get such a schooner as I want, with a clever crew, and you work hard with me, why, we ought to make a good many discoveries by that time. A hundred years hence,” continued Uncle Paul thoughtfully, as he apparently brought his telescope to bear upon a sloop of war whose white sails began to be tinged with orange as the sun sank low; but all the time he was peering out through the corners of his eyes to note the effect of his words upon his nephew. “But let me see—a hundred years’ time. Why, how much older will you be then, Pickle?”
“Why, just the same as you would, uncle; a hundred years older than I am now. Pooh! You are making fun of me. But I say, uncle, be serious. How are you going to manage to get your schooner?”
“Set to work, and lose no time, my boy. But I am rather puzzled at the present moment, and I am afraid—”