“Why, nothing,” replied Henry Burns. “Who said I didn’t like him? I never did.”
“No, you didn’t,” admitted Harvey. “But I know you well enough by this time to tell when you really like a person. Now, if I asked you if you like George Warren, you’d come out plump and flat and swear he is a fine chap, and all that. But you don’t seem quite sure about Mr. Carleton. I think he’s the best man that ever came down here. He likes to have a good time with us boys—which is more than most men do; he enters into things; he buys everything, and he tells good stories. What fault do you find with him?”
“Not any,” laughed Henry Burns. “He’s everything you say he is, and I think he is one of the most generous men I ever met. There, don’t that satisfy you? But I’ll tell you one thing, Jack. I was just thinking I shouldn’t want to be in Mr. Carleton’s way if he had made up his mind to do a certain thing. He’s the kind of a man that wouldn’t be interfered with when once he was decided.”
“How do you make that out?” asked Harvey.
“Oh, just by a lot of little things,” answered Henry Burns, “not any of them of any particular consequence of themselves. By the way, do you remember inviting him to sail down the river?”
“Why, not exactly,” replied Harvey, somewhat puzzled.
“Well, you didn’t,” said Henry Burns, laughing quietly. “He invited himself. He said, ‘I’ll sail down with you,’ or ‘I’ll go along with you,’ or something of that sort.
“And do you remember inviting him to go out sailing on this trip?” continued Henry Burns.
“No,” replied Harvey, a little impatiently.
“That’s because he invited himself,” said Henry Burns, still smiling. “I remember that he said, ‘I’ll go out sailing with you to-morrow.’ That settled it in his mind.”