“Well, you said it was Red-head this morning,” replied Toby carelessly.
Arnold flushed. “We’ve been here since half-past two, and we want to get home. I’ve a rope here, and if you’ll tow us in I’ll give you a dollar.”
The second occupant of the Frolic, an older and bigger boy with dark hair and eyes and a somewhat sulky expression, chimed in impatiently. “We’ll give him two dollars. I’ll pay half. I’ve got to get back by five o’clock, Arn.”
“All right then, two,” amended Arnold anxiously. “Get that half-inch rope out of the stern locker, Frank, will you?”
“Oh, I’d do it for a dollar,” said Toby, “or I might do it for nothing at all. It isn’t that.” He ruminated again and again chugged the Turnover into position. “Tell you what I will do,” he continued then. “I’ll come aboard and see if I can start her for you.”
“What’s the good of that?” demanded Frank. “We’ve been trying for nearly two hours. And we want to get in.”
“Maybe I might think of something you haven’t,” answered Toby.
“All right, come ahead,” said Arnold.
Toby slid the Turnover close to the other launch and shut off the engine. “You hold her, Phebe,” he instructed. Then: “This is my sister, Phebe,” he added by way of introduction. “Phebe, this is Arnold Deering. You remember I spoke of him this noon,” he added innocently.