“What’s your idea—put her on wheels?”

“Nope. I’ve got an expedition on down south. You’ve heard of this man Vanderdecken?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I’m going down to catch him.”

“Humph,” said Tyrebuck, “you’ll go down right enough in the Wear Jack if the putty gives.”

“That’s what I was telling Mr. du Cane,” said Hank. “She’s not so much a yacht as an optical delusion. She looks A 1, but isn’t, but we’re going to take a whale boat.”

“Why not go in the whale boat?” asked Tyrebuck. “What you want taking the Wear Jack along—for fun?”

“It’s part of my plan to have a yacht,” replied the other, “and she looks like a yacht—Oh, she’s24 not so bad—it was only my joke. I reckon she’ll hold together as long as we want her, the sticks look sound enough.”

24

“Well, she mayn’t be as bad as she’s painted,” agreed Tyrebuck. “I’ve been too busy to bother with her. I bought her as old junk, thinking to pull off a deal, and had her fixed up by Michelson and advertised her. Her lines are lovely, there’s no denying that. You remember last fall I took you down with Cookson to look at her and he went about prodding her with a knife. He offered four thousand for her.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” said Hank.

“Well, he was secretary of the Brookland Creek Yacht Club and they wanted her for a floating annex. When I refused, he got impudent and said the members wouldn’t have anything to do with the deal as they weren’t a suicide club. That joke got about.”

“I heard it,” said Hank.

“It crabbed her. All the smarties got busy guying her and me, and I got a letter from a chap calling himself Charon and offering ten dollars for her as a house boat on the Styx, and so it went on till everybody forgot her, but it has dished any chance of a deal. Mention her to any yachtsman and all those damned old jokes flutter up like moths; it’s like a woman’s reputation. Once it’s damaged, there’s no use in shaking it out of the window and putting new buttons on it—there’s no buyers.”

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