“Well, don’t forget to ask him for it, and I’ll write. He can only refuse.”
George, beginning to awake to the possibilities of the plan, cast a more critical eye over the stranded sloop.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” he said at length. “We might get her into the water.”
“It wouldn’t be exactly easy, because she’s pretty big,” Jack admitted, “but it would be worth trying, anyway. What a prize if we got her, though! She’s thirty foot over all, if she’s an inch. And ten—no, twelve-foot beam. The only thing is, if she did float, we couldn’t row her very well.”
“There’s bales of junk gear up at our yard,” put in George. “I suppose her mast got broken off in the gale when she stranded. I think I could get that fixed all right, though. There’s an old spar that came out of her when she was refitted. I don’t know why it was taken out, but it looks all right. We can find an old mainsail and jib somewhere. Even if they need a bit of patching, they’ll do.”
“The boat is the chief thing,” Jack mused. “The rest will be easy, once we get her. I’m going to send that letter off to-day. Let’s go home now and do it.”
Letter-writing was not an occupation which, ordinarily, filled Jack with joy. But this was not an ordinary occasion. After a first attempt which he regarded as a failure, the boy produced a missive that was both frank and polite, and then, feeling that he did not stand a ghost of a chance of having his request granted, posted it. Later, he and George walked to the boat-yard, there to consult George’s father, Tony Santo, on the question of moving the Sea-Lark from her sandy bed. Tony promised to go down the river and look the sloop over, the following day, and was as good as his word. Jack and George accompanied him in his sailing-dory, and to the delight of the boys the boat-builder declared that there ought not to be a great deal of difficulty in getting the sloop off, though he cautiously declined either to have anything to do with such operations or allow his son to, unless definite permission was received from Mr. Farnham. He pointed out, however, that the accumulation of sand in the sloop’s cabin would have to be removed before any attempt could be made at shifting her. Her companionway door had evidently been open when she grounded, with the result that in the three years which had since elapsed the space below deck, a roomy cabin twelve feet by nine, had been half filled with the fine white sand.
During the next three days the boys, taking a shovel with them, employed themselves busily at this task until the last of the undesired ballast was removed. Jack now began to keep an anxious lookout for the postman. Four days elapsed, and still no reply arrived. Thursday came, and on returning from school he found an envelope bearing his name, on the mantel-shelf. His fingers unsteady with excitement, he tore it open and read:
Dear Sir:
I thought my old sloop must have been broken up by now. Yes, she is still my property, and if you want her you are welcome to her, on one condition. If you get her afloat, you must take me for a sail in her some day.