"He has instructed me to charter a steam yacht for a Southern cruise, a roomy, comfortable boat. The main consideration is to get something that's all ready to go."
"It is fortunate that you came to me, Mr. Robinson," said the little broker solemnly. "As it happens I have the very thing you want. I refer to the Columbian, Colonel Oliver Stackpoole's yacht. Perhaps you know her?"
Jack shook his head.
"One of the finest yachts afloat, sir! Three hundred feet long, and a veritable floating palace! Only yesterday Colonel Stackpoole and a party of friends returned on her from a hunting trip to Jekyl Island. I have just received the Colonel's note authorizing me to charter her for the Florida season. She has a full complement of men, a complete inventory of stores, she is coaling this minute, and actually has steam up!"
"That sounds promising," said Jack. "How about terms?"
He agreed without batting an eye to the figure named, and the little broker was sorry he had not asked double.
"Let's go and look at her," said Jack. "If everything is O.K. you shall have a check this afternoon, and we'll sail to-night."
The yacht-broker wished that Heaven might send him such clients oftener.
The Columbian was lying at a coal dock in Hoboken. It was a matter of half an hour to reach her in the automobile. Jack fell in love with her at sight, and registered a silent vow, that some day when his work was done he would own her outright—or one like her.
Though really a great ocean-going vessel, her clipper bows, low hull, raking masts and great funnel conveyed an impression of extreme lightness and grace. She was painted black with a green streak at the water line, and her funnel was yellow.