“Yes, she’s a beauty, all right, but what would we do with her? She’d cost money, too.” After a moment’s silence he said: “Look here, Toby, maybe she was stolen a long while ago and they’ve stopped advertising for her. Maybe if we looked through some old papers we’d come across something.”
“Where would we find the old papers, though?”
“A library would have them. Is there a library here?”
“No, but there’s one in Johnstown. What we ought to do, I guess, is put an advertisement in ourselves, Arn.”
“That’s so! I never thought of that! Let’s go and write one.”
“All right.” Toby gathered the discarded papers and arose. “You do it, though. I—I haven’t got any heart for it!”
But that advertisement was never written, for on the way past the shed Toby thought of his father, and Mr. Tucker was invited to view the prize.
“That’s a nice little boat, Tobe,” said Mr. Tucker, as he looked down on her from the wharf. “Made for quiet waters. Who built her?”
“I don’t know, sir,” answered Toby.