[pg 174] Curtis's shack proved to be well away from the village proper, and down near the waterfront. A light shone from a window near the front door as the three approached the small dwelling.
“I think I can interest you for an hour, gentlemen,” declared the bearded one, as he slipped a key in the lock of the door.
He admitted them to a little room off the hallway, a room that contained not much beyond a table and four chairs, a side-table and some of the accessories of the smoker.
“Just take a seat here,” proposed Curtis, “while I get some sarsaparilla for you. I'll be right back in a moment.”
It was four or five minutes before Curtis came back, bearing a tray on which were three tall glasses, each containing a brownish liquid.
“The stuff isn't iced, yet it's fairly cold,” the bearded one explained. “Well, gentlemen, here's to a pleasant evening!”
Hal, who was thirsty, took a long swallow of the sarsaparilla, finding the flavor excellent. Jack drank more slowly, though he enjoyed the beverage.
“If you don't mind,” suggested Curtis, “I will light a cigar. And say, by the way, gentlemen, what if we take a little walk down to my beach? Before showing you the models I spoke [pg 175] of, I'd like to have your opinion of the lines of my sloop.”
“We'll go down and take a look with great pleasure,” Jack Benson agreed, rising. “And I'm glad, sir, that you're able to show us more courtesy than we were able to offer you to-night.”
“Oh, that was all right,” declared their host, smiling good-humoredly. “Rules are rules, and you have your owners to please. No hard feelings on that score, I assure you.”