"You probably saw that house-boat down there, that is my shop. As I tell you, I am a maker of canoes. They have, I hope, some reputation—honest hand-work; and my output is limited. I shall be deeply chagrined if you have never heard of the Hartridge canoe."
He shook his head in mock grief, walked to a cabarette and took up a pipe and filled it. He was carrying off the situation well; but his coolness angered me.
"Mr. Hartridge, I am sorry that I must believe that heretofore you have been known as Holbrook. The fact was clenched for me this afternoon, quite late, as I stood in the path below here. I heard quite distinctly a young woman call you father."
"So? Then you're an eavesdropper as well as a trespasser!"—and the man laughed.
"We will admit that I am both," I flared angrily.
"You are considerate, Mr. Donovan!"
"The young woman who called you father and whom you answered from the deck of the house-boat is a person I know."
"The devil!"
He calmly puffed his pipe, holding the bowl in his fingers, his idle hand thrust into his trousers pocket.
"It was Miss Helen Holbrook that I saw here, Mr. Hartridge."