“If he wanted to sail early to-morrow I believe he’d have said so,” replied Joe.
“That might be true enough for most days,” argued Halstead. “But think what an unusual day this has been for him. His mind is on the biggest game of a money king’s year.”
“He seemed to take it easily enough,” rejoined Dawson.
“Why, that’s his business mask, Joe. Our new owner is a man who has made himself successful by not allowing himself to get so rattled that he gets everyone around him on pin-points. He felt the excitement of the day’s work well and plenty. Don’t have any hazy ideas about that.”
“But what a fearfully nervous chap little Mr. Moddridge is,” observed Dawson. “It really makes one begin to stutter, just to look at him when he’s worried.”
“Joe,” announced the young skipper, after a look at his watch, “if you and Jed will stay with the boat I’m going to run up to the hotel, just to see if there’s any definite word for us.”
“Don’t take the word from Moddridge, then,” laughed Dawson.
The young skipper didn’t hurry; there was no need of that, and the night, away from the water front, was warm and close. East Hampton is a busy summer resort, and the streets were thronged with girls in summer white and holiday mood, a sprinkling of young men, a good many children and some older people. Not a few turned to gaze after the erect young sailor, in his natty uniform, as Halstead strolled along taking in the sights. Tom knew where the Eagle House was, for that was where he and his mates had first reported to the “Rocket’s” owner. In a few minutes he stepped into the lobby of that handsome summer hostelry.
“Is Mr. Delavan in?” he asked of a clerk at the office desk.