“How much reward do you suppose we ought to ask, Toby?” he inquired. Toby shook his head.
“A hundred anyway, eh?” continued Arnold. “Maybe there’s a sum offered. I know if I’d lost a boat like that I’d be glad to pay almost anything for her!”
“If she’s stolen property, though,” replied Toby finally, “the owner wouldn’t really have to pay any reward; unless he wanted to, I mean.”
“He will want to, you bet! Where’ll we take her? To your wharf?”
“Yes, I think so. If we leave her at the town landing some one will be messing around her all the time. She can berth where I keep the Turnover. This old tub”—Toby ran a disparaging eye over his launch—“can stay out in the harbor.”
Once ashore, the two boys hurried up the street and bought a copy of every morning paper that the news store had. Then they scuttled back to the boat yard, perched themselves in the lee of a dismantled sloop, and began a systematic search of the various “Lost and Found” columns. As each paper was laid aside without results Toby heaved a sigh of relief and Arnold one of disappointment. When the last paper had been perused Arnold observed his chum blankly.
“Not in any of those,” he said, regretfully. “Gee, that’s mean, isn’t it?”
Toby nodded silently. After a moment he said, “I suppose you—you wouldn’t want to keep her if—if we didn’t find an owner, Arn?”
“Why, no, I don’t think so. Would you? She wouldn’t do for rough weather, you know. Mr. Trainor said so. I’d be scared to death to go out of the harbor in her. If we don’t find her owner it would be great to sell her to Mr. Trainor, I think.”
Toby nodded again, but with no enthusiasm. “I suppose it would be silly for us to keep her,” he said, “only—only she’s the most beautiful launch I ever saw, Arn.”