CHAPTER VI.

Clyde and Ray Prisoners.

James T. Leeds, broker, sat upon the veranda of the seaside hotel, with his feet on the railing and his chair tilted back.

He was at peace with himself and with all the world.  In fact, the world had been treating him nicely of late.  His “flyers” in Wall Street and in the wheat market had been successful.  He had been making money rapidly, and this is why he smiled as he lighted his cigar.

Mr. Leeds liked the little seaside town, and was sure to drop in upon it as soon as the warm weather set in.

It was so near New York that he could reach the city in a few minutes.  He had expected to get a good deal of enjoyment out of the yacht that he had bought, but, as we have already seen, it had proved a dismal failure.

He could not learn to manage it himself, and if the water was at all rough the motion made him sick.  So he had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the water had no charms for him.

Mr. Leeds was in the midst of a calculation of his profits of the next day, should Erie Railroad stock jump up a couple of points, as he confidently expected that it would do, when a boy, panting and red in the face, suddenly appeared by his side.

“Hullo, Clyde!  What is the matter with you now?” he inquired.

And his feet came down from off the railing and the legs of the chair settled upon the plank with a thump.

“I—­I want to speak to you,” panted the boy.

“Well, speak away.  I’m listening.”

Clyde shook his head.

“No, not here,” he said, with due regard to the danger of talking over private matters where an unsuspected ear might be within hearing distance.  “This is very important.”

“It must be,” said the broker, with a little laugh.  “Well, come to my room.”

The broker led the way to a room that looked out upon the water.

Clyde walked to the window to see that there were no convenient porches, and then drew a chair up to the table and sat down.

“Now,” said the broker, “go on.”

Clyde hesitated a moment.  He really did not know how to begin.  Finally be got started: 

“Mr. Leeds, you said to-day that you had got tired of the yacht, did you not?”

“That’s what I said,” replied the broker.  “Did you bring me up here to tell me that?”

“You said you were going to sell the Orion, did you not?”

“No, I did not.  I said I was going to smash her up.  But I have thought better of that.  I’m going to load her up with pitch and anchor her off in the stream and set fire to her.  I am going to do that on the Fourth of July, and have a celebration all to myself.  Won’t that be fun?”

“I thought you would perhaps take her around to New York and sell her.  If you were going to do that—­”

“Oh, but I’m not going to do anything of the sort.  I am not in the yacht-selling business.  I wouldn’t be bothered with her.  But what is all this about, anyway?”