“Gee, she’s sweet, ain’t she?” murmured Toby.
“A beauty!” agreed Arnold, in awe.
“I guess some one will claim her, all right,” mourned Toby.
And Mr. Trainor laughed.
“That’s the way I felt when I saw her, son. I wanted awfully to hide her some place where you couldn’t find her! If you shouldn’t hear from the owner, and you want to sell her, why, my offer stands for all time.”
“If she was really mine,” said Toby, simply, “I wouldn’t sell her for anything, Mr. Trainor!”
“Tucker, you have the soul of an artist!” replied the man, patting him on the shoulder. “Those are my sentiments exactly.”
“She—she’d be pretty unsteady, though, wouldn’t she?” asked Arnold. “She isn’t very wide across.”
“Well, she isn’t meant for rough seas, Deering. She’s a racer, pure and simple, and I’ll wager anything she’s won more than once. Still, maybe not, for she can’t have been built more than a year. Everything looks too new. Question now is, what are you going to do with her, boys? If we had some gasoline we might try her out.”