"Constantinople."
"Constan"—
"—tinople," added the man briskly. "A stranger here?"
"Yes," said Lynde abstractedly. He was busy running over an imaginary map of the State of New Hampshire in search of Constantinople.
"Good!" exclaimed the anatomy, rustling his dry palms together, "I'll employ you."
"You'll employ me? I like that!"
"Certainly. I'm a ship-builder."
"I didn't know they built vessels a hundred miles from the coast," said
Lynde.
"I am building a ship—don't say I'm not!"
"Of course I know nothing about it."