“Hallo, old beeswax!  Saw-logs must have been cheap when you had that boat built.  You’ve got timber enough there to finish off a good-sized barn.”

Frank, of course, made no reply; and, in a moment more, the hack was out of sight.

They soon reached the wharf, in front of the house, and Frank helped Julia out, and, after making his boat fast, started toward the house, and entered the room where their visitors were seated.

His aunt’s greeting was cold and distant, and she acted as if her every motion had been thoroughly studied.  James’s acknowledgment was scarcely more than agreeable.  To Frank’s inquiry, “How do you do, sir?” he replied,

“Oh, I’m bully, thank you, old beeswax.  Not you the cod I twigged[A] navigating that scow up the creek?”

[Footnote A:  Saw.]

Frank acknowledged himself to be the person, and James continued,

“I suppose she’s the champion yacht, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” answered Frank, “she is.  There’s no boat about the village that can beat her.”

“Ah, possibly; but, after all, you had better tell that to the marines.  I’ve seen too much of the world to have a country chap stuff me, now I tell you, old beeswax.”

We will not particularize upon James’s visit.  It will suffice to relate one or two incidents that will illustrate his character.

A day or two after his arrival, he discovered the schooner standing on Frank’s bureau, and he could not be contented until he should see “how she carried herself in the water,” and Frank, reluctantly, carried it down to the creek and set it afloat.

For a few moments James seemed to have forgotten his evil propensities, and they amused themselves by sailing the schooner from one side of the creek to the other.  But he very soon grew tired of this “lame, unexciting sport,” as he called it, and, gathering up an armful of stones, he began to throw them into the water near the boat, shouting,

“Storm on the Atlantic!  See her rock!”

“Please don’t, James,” urged Frank; “I’m afraid you will hit the schooner.”

“No fear of that,” answered James, confidently, still continuing to throw the stones; “I can come within a hair’s-breadth of her, and not touch her.  Now, see.”

And, before Frank could speak, away flew a large stone, with great force, and, crashing through the mainsail of the little vessel, broke both masts and the bowsprit short off.

“There,” exclaimed Frank, “I was afraid you would do that.”

James did not appear to be in the least sorry for it, but he skipped up the bank, shouting, in an insulting tone,

“There’s your boat, old beeswax.  When do you expect her in port?”

Frank did not answer, but drew what remained of the schooner to the shore, and, taking it under his arm, started for his shop, saying,

“Now, that’s a nice cousin for a fellow to have.  I’ll do my best to treat him respectfully while he stays, but I shall not be sorry when the time comes to bid him good-by.”