“And have you talked it over with the squire since last night?” inquired Harvey, whose curiosity was now aroused.
“I haven’t talked it over with anybody,” replied Harry Brackett, impatiently. “I don’t have to. It’s my money.”
Harvey gave a whistle denoting surprise. “Well,” he said, “the Viking is not for sale. Besides, Henry Burns owns half of her. You’ll have to talk with him. He won’t sell, though, I know, because the boat was a gift to us.”
“Perhaps he would, if you urged him to,” suggested young Brackett.
“Well, I won’t urge him,” said Harvey, abruptly. “But I tell you what I will do,” he added, “I’ll sell you the Surprise. She’s a grand good boat, too; and she’ll be as good as ever when she is put in shape.—No, I won’t do that, either,” he exclaimed, after a moment’s thought. “That is, not this summer. I’ve promised her to the crew, and I won’t go back on it. No, I won’t sell you the Surprise, either.”
“Would you let me hire either of them for the season?” ventured Harry Brackett.
Harvey hesitated for a moment, with visions of the money it would bring temptingly before his mind’s eye. But the remembrance of the loyalty of his crew was still fresh in his mind.
“No,” he said, determinedly. “I won’t do it.”
Which was a lucky determination, if he had but known it.
“See here,” said young Harry Brackett, lowering his tone, and making one final desperate effort to shake Harvey’s resolution, “I’ll make you a better offer than that. I’ll pay you and Henry fifteen hundred dollars for the boat between you. You can get him to do it if you only try. And I’ll give you seventy-five dollars for yourself, and you needn’t say anything about it.”