"Well, my boy, I think the simplest way out of it would be for you to go to New York, and look around for yourself. Perhaps you may pick up a bargain in a steam yacht. You have my full permission to do as you think best, only, as I said, don't get too large a craft. Take a week for the task, and I think you'll get what you want."
"That's what I'll do, dad. I'll go to New York in a few days, and see what I can do."
"Perhaps your Uncle Ezra would like to go with you," went on Mr. Hamilton.
"Who, me?" exclaimed the old man, carefully picking up from the table-cloth some crumbs of toast and eating them. "No, Mortimer, I haven't any money to waste on trips to New York. Living is frightfully expensive there."
"I'll pay for everything," said Dick, generously.
"No—no," and his uncle spoke slowly, and with an evident effort. "I—I—er—I've got to get back to Dankville. I know some of my hired men will waste the oats in feeding the horse, or else they'll burn too much kerosene oil, sitting up nights to read useless books. No, I must get back. The gravel walks need raking, and I always cut my lawn this time of year. I'll go home. But, before I go, I want to have a little talk with you, Mortimer, on a very serious subject."
"All right, Ezra. I guess Dick will excuse us."
Mr. Hamilton arose from the table, followed by
