"Shouldn't care to be caught out in her in any sort of a breeze. No beam," said Harvey, critically, as the yacht slowed to pick up her mooring-buoy.
"They're having what stands them for a good time. I can give you that, and twice as much as that, Harve. How'd you like it?"
"Caesar! That's no way to get a dinghy overside," said Harvey, still intent on the yacht. "If I couldn't slip a tackle better than that I'd stay ashore. . . . What if I don't?"
"Stay ashore—or what?"
"Yacht and ranch and live on 'the old man,' and—get behind Mama where there's trouble," said Harvey, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Why, in that case, you come right in with me, my son."
"Ten dollars a month?" Another twinkle.
"Not a cent more until you're worth it, and you won't begin to touch that for a few years."
"I'd sooner begin sweeping out the office—isn't that how the big bugs start?—and touch something now than—"
"I know it; we all feel that way. But I guess we can hire any sweeping we need. I made the same mistake myself of starting in too soon."