“You ought to have a good boat to cruise around here with,” said the squire. “You’re fond of sailing, I see. Reckon you know how to handle a boat pretty well yourself.”
The squire knew he hadn’t any boat to sell that would suit Mr. Carleton, calling to mind his son’s letter from him about the Viking; but he had a purpose in suggesting the buying of one. He considered that if Mr. Carleton should make such a purchase, and become fascinated with the sailing about Southport, he would be more likely to want the land to build a cottage on.
“Yes, I am very fond of sailing,” responded Mr. Carleton, “but I haven’t got so far as to think about buying a boat just yet.”
“Oh, ho! you haven’t, eh?” said the squire to himself. “Reckon I know something about that.”
The squire was vastly tickled. Here was a position that just suited his crafty nature. It didn’t signify anything, to be sure, Mr. Carleton’s dissembling,—probably that he might get a better bargain by keeping quiet and not seeming anxious to buy,—but it pleased the squire to have this little advantage in the situation.
“I think you might buy the Viking,” he suggested.
Mr. Carleton had his own doubts about this, having been informed by Harry Brackett of the failure of his attempt, but he merely said, “That so? Well, she might do. Ever hear of anything queer about her—any outs about her?”
“No,” replied the squire, “nothing queer about her, except the way they got her. I don’t know of any faults that she has.”
“Well, I might buy her if they didn’t hold her too high,” said Mr. Carleton, meditatively. “I suppose she’s worth fifteen hundred dollars easy enough.”
“Yes, and more if you had her up Boston way,” answered the squire. “You haven’t had any idea of buying her, then?”