Another yacht, the Isabelle seemed to him, at first, to be just right. She had new engines and boilers, and was magnificently fitted up. But the price was very high, and, while Dick could have afforded it, Mr. Blake pointed out that the yacht would require a crew of about twenty-five men, and Dick did not think he cared to preside, as captain pro tem, over such a force.
"I want something smaller, I think," he said.
"That's my own opinion," remarked Mr. Blake.
They had exhausted the possibilities at the Yacht Club anchorage, so the lawyer proposed a trip to St. George, Staten Island, off which several yachts, that their owners wished to dispose of, were anchored. There Dick found three which would have suited him, but Mr. Blake advised him not to commit himself, but to look further before deciding.
"We'll go over to Brooklyn," proposed the lawyer. "We may as well put in the entire day, for buying a steam yacht is not to be disposed of too lightly."
As they were taken out in a small motorboat, past several yachts at anchor, they passed one, over the rail of which an old, grizzled man was leaning, calmly smoking a short, black pipe. He was a veritable picture of an "old sea dog," and Dick's eyes danced with pleasure at the sight of him. A moment later his gaze wandered to the yacht herself. He could not repress a murmur of admiration.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Blake.
"That yacht," replied the young millionaire. "That's exactly my idea of what I want. I wonder if we can buy her?"
"I don't know, but it's easy to find out."
The lawyer directed the engineer of the motorboat to put them alongside. As Dick approached nearer his admiration grew, until he had made up his mind that if the interior suited him as well as did the outside that boat would be his.