"I do not," I answered, concluding, under the circumstances, to go no farther than the facts would warrant. "Those boats belong to the Parkville Liberal Institute."
"I know they do," growled the man, who seemed to be in doubt what to do.
"Hoist the jib, Tom. If you wish to land, sir, now is your time," I suggested to the intruder, as I picked up the heavy oak tiller of the Splash.
"What are you going to do with that tiller?" continued he, fixing his eye fiercely upon me.
"I am going to steer the boat with it," I replied. "If you wish to go with us, I shall not object to your company."
I saw that the man only wished me to bully and threaten him a little, to induce him to pitch into me, though it was plain he did not like the looks of the heavy tiller in my hand. I refrained from provoking him any further than to persist in claiming possession of my boat.
"You say this boat is yours," said he, after a moment of deliberation.
"I do; if you need any proof, I will now refer to Mr. Leman, the grocer, and Mr. Irwin, the provision-dealer; and if you belong on this wharf, you must have seen me land from her more than once."
"I don't want to quarrel with you," he added. "I know the boat very well, and very likely I've seen you in her; but I don't remember. I live close to the shore beyond the village, and I was waked up in the night—it was about one o'clock, I guess—by a lot of boys hollering. I got up, and found all these boats heaved up on the beach, and the boys trying to get 'em off. I helped 'em a while, and then brought the boats round here, for they would all got stove to pieces there."
The man talked very well now, and I met him in the same spirit.