"I don't know; you can ask them."
"I am entitled to carry five, and I want some live weights to-day, for it is blowing fresh," added Laud, as he walked towards the shop.
Neither of Donald's men was willing to lose his time, and as Laud came out of the shop, he discovered a young lady walking up the beach towards the city. A gust of wind blew her hat away at this moment, and Mr. Cavendish gallantly ran after, and recovered it, as Donald would have done if he had not been anticipated, for he recognized the young lady as soon as he saw her. Even as it was, he was disposed to run after that hat, and dispute the possession of it with Mr. Laud Cavendish, for the owner thereof was Miss Nellie Patterdale.
"Allow me to return your truant hat, Miss Patterdale," said Laud.
"Thank you, Mr. Cavendish," replied Nellie, rather coldly, as she resumed her walk towards the place where Donald stood, a few rods farther up the beach.
"We have a fine breeze for the race, Miss Patterdale," added Laud, smirking and jerking, as though he intended to improve the glorious opportunity, for the young lady was not only bewitchingly pretty, but her father was a nabob, with only two children.
"Very fine, I should think," she answered; and her tones and manner were anything but encouraging to the aspirant.
"I hope you are going to honor the gallant yachtmen with your presence, Miss Patterdale."
"I shall certainly see the race.—Good morning, Don John," said she, when she came within speaking distance of Donald.
"Good morning, Nellie," replied he, blushing, as he felt the full force of her glance and her smile—a glance and a smile for which Laud would have sacrificed all he held dear in the world, even to his cherished mustache. "Don't you attend the race?"