"I think you are," returned Spickles, with a curling sneer on his thick lips. "When I saw you in New York a year ago, you told me what a big thing Lake Champlain was."
"I still think it is the finest sheet of water in the world, and the region around it is a perfect paradise."
"Paradise!" exclaimed the visitor from the metropolis. "You said there was lots of fun to be had here."
"I find plenty of amusement for all the spare hours I have."
"After what you said, I kept thinking of this place; and five of our fellows have come up here, and chartered a schooner for the summer. She is anchored out in the river; and now that we are here, you will not even go on board of her," continued Spickles, becoming more and more disgusted with the refusal of the captain of the Lily; for such he was, and his "class in sailing" were about ready to go on board of the schooner.
"I am the skipper of that schooner you see out in the lake, and I have to go out in her in a short time," Matt explained.
"Put it off; let the party wait till you come back," insisted the visitor.
"We don't do things in that way here," added Matt, with a smile.
"Tell them you are sick, and can't go," suggested Spickles.
"But I am not sick."