“That’s so,” Clay agreed; “you have no steam to help you ride out a breeze. But we’ll get down to business. I made you an offer of five thousand dollars to give me the first chance of cleaning up this wreck. I’ll now go a thousand dollars better.”
“Is that your limit?”
“It is; you’ll save time by realizing it. I’ve bid up to the last cent I think worth while.”
“Suppose we decline?”
“You would be foolish. You have no claim on the wreck; in a sense, I have, and if we can’t come to some understanding I begin work at once. My yacht can hang on through a gale of wind and with our outfit we can get something done in pretty bad weather. You have a small sailing-boat and poor, cheap gear. As soon as a breeze gets up you’ll have to quit.”
“I imagine you haven’t yet mentioned all your advantages over us,” Bethune suggested.
Clay looked at him keenly and then smiled. “That’s so. I’m trying to be polite.”
“In fact, you’re keeping your strongest arguments in reserve. Unless we agree to your proposition, there’s not much chance of our recovering anything from the wreck?”
“You’re pretty near the mark,” Clay answered, smiling confidently.
“The odds seem against us. Perhaps I’d better be candid. The truth is, we have already recovered something of importance.”