As they took hold to drag it down the beach, a fisherman, weather-beaten, and smoking a short stub of a clay pipe, approached them. Addressing Mr. Carleton, he said, good-naturedly, “Well, you got out and back safe, I see. Found your own boat again all right, eh?”
Mr. Carleton, glancing coolly at the man that had accommodated him the night before, said, carelessly, “Guess you’ve got the advantage of me, captain. I’m afraid I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
The man slowly removed his pipe and stared at Mr. Carleton in amazement.
“Wall, I swear!” he ejaculated. “D’yer mean to say it wasn’t you that borrowed my skiff last night to go out to your yacht?”
Mr. Carleton laughed heartily.
“Well,” he replied, “seeing as I haven’t any yacht to go out to, in the first place, and seeing as I was up at the hotel all last night, I think you must indeed have me mixed up in your mind with somebody else. However, if anybody has been using my name around here to hire a boat, I’m willing to pay, if you’re a loser.”
“Oh, no, sir,” said the man, apologetically. “I don’t want no pay. I just accommodated somebody, and it looked surprisingly like you. Excuse me. Guess I must have made a mistake.”
“Ho! that’s all right, no excuse needed,” said Mr. Carleton, lightly. “You’re going to row us out, are you, Harvey? Well, I’ll push her off and sit down astern. I’m the heaviest.”
They rowed out to where the Viking was tossing uneasily at her line, as though eager to be free and away from the lee of the land, amid the tumbling waves.
It was quite rough outside, and the wind increasing every minute; so they put a reef in the mainsail and set only the forestaysail and a single jib. Then, with anchor fished, they were quickly in the midst of rough weather, with the spume flying aboard in a way that sent them scuttling below for their oilskins.