Walking down to the landing was a tall boy, about Jack’s age.
“Ahoy, there! Going across in the ferry?” Cap’n Crumbie hailed.
The prospective passenger did not reply, but came straight to the landing, and, with a puzzled expression, ran his eyes over the Sea-Lark.
“What have you got there?” he asked. There was something about either the question or the way in which it was put that rather irritated the captain of the sloop. However, he did not openly show his resentment.
“A ferry-boat, across to the town,” he replied. “Are you coming?”
“Queer sort of boat to use for a ferry, isn’t she?” asked the stranger.
“Why?” asked Jack, who saw nothing whatever queer about his beloved craft. Obviously the strange boy was one of the “summer folk,” and city bred at that, probably knowing no more about sailing-craft than the keeper of a dime museum would.
The boy on the wharf began to laugh, and Jack’s cheeks flushed.
“Are you the chap who wrote to Mr. Farnham in New York about the Sea-Lark?” the stranger asked.
“That,” replied the skipper with youthful dignity, “is my business. Push off, George.”