“I couldn’t come in any way but straight on, could I? Look at all those boats along the sides! Why don’t they give a fellow a chance to get up here?”
“Well, you’re not expected to make your landing at sixty miles an hour, you silly lubber. Here, hold that out and I’ll pull you in.”
Somewhat disgruntled, the amateur navigator proffered the end of the boat-hook and in a jiffy the Frolic was alongside. Toby returned to his seat on the box and watched the other make fast. Conscious of Toby’s ironical regard, the skipper of the Frolic was flustered and awkward, and twice got the line tangled around his feet. When he stood up from his task, he was red of face and out of temper. “That suit your highness?” he inquired.
Toby grinned. “Well, it ain’t customary in these parts to make a boat fast with a square knot, but I guess she’ll hold.”
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” sneered the other.
Toby made no reply to that, merely smiling in a most exasperating manner. Presently, when the skipper of the Frolic had laboriously shoved the launch out of the way, he looked questioningly about the landing.
“Where can I get gasoline?” he asked more affably.
Toby was maddeningly deliberate. “Gasoline?”
“Yes.”
“How much do you want?”