"She is, indeed!" replied Tom, who resolved to "stick it out" as long as possible. "She's the finest boat about Newport. She sails like lightning, and is fitted up like a parlor."
"I suppose she belongs to you!" said another.
"Now, didn't I tell you this morning that she was mine?" asked Tom.
"There's a screw loose somewhere, captain," said Johnny. "I asked your father what that yacht cost you, and he said he wasn't aware that you owned her."
Tom was right in his suspicions. The boys knew all about it, and so did his father. Drawing in a long breath, and shutting his teeth hard to choke back his feelings, he pushed his way through the crowd, and started homeward at a rapid pace, not, however, without a few parting remarks from the boys.
"Hard-a-starboard, there, captain!" shouted one.
"O, now, I always was an unlucky boy," said another, exactly imitating Tom's lazy, drawling way of talking.
"The next time you go to sea in that beautiful yacht of yours, captain, we will go with you, if you will be good enough to send us word!"
Tom heard all these and a good many more exclamations; but he kept steady on his way, looking neither to the right nor left, and finally reached his home without having been so unfortunate as to meet any more of his acquaintances. He ran hastily up the stairs to his room, and, after he had closed and locked the door, he threw himself upon his bed, and found relief for his pent-up feelings in a copious flood of tears.