“Too bad we couldn’t take Carleton along with us,” said Harvey, as the yacht Viking, with all sail spread, was beating down the bay. “He ought to have asked us sooner. We might have managed to make room for him.”
“You mean, he ought to have said he was going sooner,” said Henry Burns, slyly.
“Oh, I suppose so,” replied Harvey, half-impatiently. “I see, you never will quite like our new friend. By the way, that reminds me, he wants to buy the Viking. He says he will give us eighteen hundred dollars. That’s the second offer we’ve had this summer.”
“Are you sure it isn’t the same one?” suggested Henry Burns.
“Why, of course it is,” cried Jack Harvey. “Sure enough, that’s what Harry Brackett was up to. He was buying for Mr. Carleton—just trying to show off, and make us think he had all that money.”
“That’s queer, too,” remarked Henry Burns, “that Mr. Carleton should try to buy the Viking after just that one short sail down the river.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” returned Harvey; “he saw what the boat could do—at least, in smooth water. No, that wouldn’t quite answer, either. He must have heard about her from some of the fishermen over at Bellport.”
“Well, do you want to sell?” inquired Henry Burns.
“Not much!” replied Harvey, emphatically. “I know you don’t, either, although you don’t say so.”
“Well, that’s true; I’d rather not,” admitted Henry Burns.