It felt good to be alive, and the clearing up of a ratty old yacht with Hank Fisher, seemed the joyfullest business on earth. Hank had hit a big nail on the head. Money would have spoiled this show—just as it spoils most shows.
They passed along the wharf till they reached Sullivan’s. Hank dumped his bundle and came to the side and George, following him, saw Jake.
Jake was fishing.
“Hullo,” said Hank.
“Hullo,” said Jake.
“Caught anything?” said Hank.
“Naw—fish ain’t bitin’.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that, for I’ve taken over the fishing rights. Jake, you’re fired, the yacht’s mine, I’ve taken her over and you’ve got to get.”
“Y’ mean to say you’ve bought her?”
“Nope. Mr. Tyrebuck has loaned her to me. It’s all the same, you’ve got to get. Here’s his letter, want to read it?”