“They call it that,” he said. “It cost me quite a few dollars. You’ll see when you get there.”
Weston was somewhat relieved when they safely accomplished the first stage of the journey, and, turning the team over to a man by the waterside, paddled off to a big, half-decked boat beautifully built and fitted in Toronto. Stirling, who admitted that he knew nothing about such matters, sat down aft and lighted a cigar, while Weston proceeded to get the tall gall mainsail and big single headsail up. He was conscious that his companion was watching him closely, and when he let go the moorings and seated himself at the tiller the latter pointed up the lake.
“About a league yet—round that long point,” he said.
A moderately fresh breeze came down across the pines, and when Weston, getting in the sheet, headed her close up to it, the boat, slanting sharply, leaped forward through the smooth water. He sat a little farther to windward, and the slant of deck decreased slightly when Stirling did the same.
“You can’t head there straight?” the latter asked.
“No,” said Weston, “not with the wind as it is. She’ll lie no higher.”
“Well,” observed Stirling, “she’s going, anyway. That pleases me. It helps one to get rid of the city. We’ll have a talk, in the meanwhile. I sent for you before. Why didn’t you come?”
It was somewhat difficult to answer, and Weston wrinkled his forehead, stiffening his grasp on the tiller.
“I was fortunate enough to be of some little service to Miss Stirling’s friends on the range, and I fancied that because of it you meant to offer me promotion of some kind,” he said.
“Well?” queried Stirling, with his eyes fixed on his companion’s face.