“Take a couple of us ashore, will you?” He was addressed by a short, stout man.  He was very round and pink of face, very well dressed, and by the manner in which he spoke to the others, and the glances he cast ashore, a person of some consequence in great impatience.

The young man laid his rowboat against the steps.

“Climb in,” he said briefly.

“You, Smith, come along,” the round-faced one addressed a youth in tight blue jersey and peaked cap.

The deck boy climbed obediently down.  A girl in white duck and heavy blue sweater put her foot on the steps.

“I think I shall go too, papa,” she said.

Her father nodded and followed her.

The rowboat nosed in beside the end of a narrow float that ran from the sea wall.  The boy in the jersey sprang out, reached a steadying hand to his employer.  The girl stepped lightly to the planked logs.

“Give the boy a lift on that boat to the chuck, will you?” the stout person made further request, indicating the white boat bottom up on shore.

A queer expression gleamed momentarily in the eyes of the boatman.  But it passed.  He did not speak, but made for the dinghy, followed by the hand from the yacht.  They turned the boat over, slid it down and afloat.  The sailor got in and began to ship his oars.

The man and the girl stood by till this was done.  Then the girl turned away.  The man extended his hand.

“Thanks,” he said curtly.

The other’s hand had involuntarily moved.  The short, stout man dropped a silver dollar in it, swung on his heel and followed his daughter,—­passed her, in fact, for she had only taken a step or two and halted.

The young fellow eyed the silver coin in his hand with an expression that passed from astonishment to anger and broke at last into a smile of sheer amusement.  He jiggled the coin, staring at it thoughtfully.  Then he faced about on the jerseyed youth about to dip his blades.

“Smith,” he said, “I suppose if I heaved this silver dollar out into the chuck you’d think I was crazy.”

The youth only stared at him.

“You don’t object to tips, do you, Smith?” the man in the mackinaw inquired.

“Gee, no,” the boy observed.  “Ain’t you got no use for money?”

“Not this kind.  You take it and buy smokes.”

He flipped the dollar into the dinghy.  It fell clinking on the slatted floor and the youth salvaged it, looked it over, put it in his pocket.

“Gee,” he said.  “Any time a guy hands me money, I keep it, believe me.”

His gaze rested curiously on the man with the patch over his eye.  His familiar grin faded.  He touched his cap.

“Thank y’, sir.”

He heaved on his oars.  The boat slid out.  The man stood watching, hands deep in his pockets.  A displeased look replaced the amused smile as his glance rested a second on the rich man’s toy of polished mahogany and shining brass.  Then he turned to look again at the house up the slope and found the girl at his elbow.