“Anyway,” he said, at last, with a chuckle, “she won’t care if you just look at the engine, and you’d better look at the rowboat I’m goin’ to give you—”
“Got orders on that, too. You’ve done too much for us already. I can’t take it.”
“Can’t, eh?” said the captain quizzically. “Why not buy it?”
The boy had his eyes fixed longingly on a staunch, flat-bottomed skiff, painted red, and carrying the name Red Bird in white.
“I don’t know that we can afford it,” he said in a hesitating voice.
“Well, of course, if I sell it, I must have my price,” went on the amused captain. “There’s a little leg-o’-mutton sail that goes with her.”
“What’s a boat like that worth?” Andy asked at last.
“Well, I’ll have to figure,” answered his elder, puckering his mouth. “The stuff in her was secondhand, and I reckon it cost me $1.50. Then there was the labor, say two days. We’ll call it a dollar and a half a day—that’s $4.50 altogether. And about a quarter for paint—”
“And the mast and sail?” suggested Andy.