Clay looked sharply at Osborne, and Ruth noticed that her father seemed disturbed.
“I guess you could pick the place out on the chart?” Clay asked Aynsley.
“It’s possible. I don’t, however, carry charts about. They’re bulky things, and not much use except when you are at sea.”
“I have one,” said Osborne and Ruth felt anxious when he rang a bell.
She suspected that she had been injudicious in starting the topic, and she would rather it were dropped, but she hesitated about giving Aynsley a warning glance. His father might surprise it, and she would have to offer Aynsley an explanation afterward. Getting up, she made the best excuse that occurred to her and went into the house. She knew where the chart was kept, and thought that she might hide it. She was too late, however, because as she took it from a bookcase a servant opened the door.
“Mr. Osborne sent me for a large roll of thick paper on the top shelf,” the maid said.
As she had the chart in her hands, Ruth was forced to give it to the girl, and when she returned to the veranda Aynsley pointed out the island. Ruth saw her father’s lips set tight.
“What kind of boat did the fellows have?” Clay asked.
“She was quite a smart sloop, but very small.” Aynsley tried to lead his father away from the subject. “At least, that was the rig she’d been intended for, by the position of the mast, but they’d divided the single headsail for handier working. After all, we’re conservative in the West, for you’ll still find people sticking to the old big jib, though it’s an awkward sail in a breeze. They’ve done away with it on the Atlantic coast, and I sometimes think we’re not so much ahead of the folks down East—”
“What was her name?” Clay interrupted him.