Nor did aught else disturb them. For, presently, there came out from shore another boat, a rowboat with three men in it. They were laughing and joking about something that had happened ashore.
Mr. Carleton, resuming his oar, sculled gently away from the Viking, worked his way back again through the fleet of yachts whence he had come, drew the skiff out of water where he had embarked, dragged it up on the beach, and cast it from him roughly. Then he strode away up the bank to the hotel, muttering under his breath, and looking back out over the water once or twice as he ascended the hill, like a man that has suffered an unexpected defeat.
CHAPTER XI.
SQUIRE BRACKETT IS PUZZLED
Henry Burns was up early the next morning, as he had planned. He rowed the dory quickly in to the landing-place, and was in Harvey’s room before that young gentleman was out of bed.
“Why, I didn’t hear you get up,” said Harvey.
“That’s not so surprising,” replied Henry Burns, “seeing as I got up aboard the Viking. I slept there.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Harvey. “I wonder how Mr. Carleton would like that if he knew it. He needn’t have hired so big a room just for me. Say, but he’s a jolly good fellow, though, isn’t he?”
“He is certainly a generous one,” answered Henry Burns.
Harvey smiled at his companion.
“What is it you don’t like about him, Henry?” he asked.