“Yes.”
“I was brought up to sail a boat,” said the doctor, “and I go fishing in summer—when I get a chance. I shall try your boat, some time.”
No reply.
“The timbers aren't seasoned, are they? They look like pitch-pine, just out of the woods. Won't they warp?”
“No. Pitch-pine goes right in, green. I s'pose the pitch keeps it, if it's out of the sun.”
“Where did you cut it?”
Eph colored a little.
“In my back lot.”
The doctor smoked on calmly, and studied the boat.
“I don't know as I know you,” said Eph, relaxing a little.