leaning, calmly smoking a short, black pipe. He was a veritable picture of an "old sea dog," and Dick's eyes danced with pleasure at the sight of him. A moment later his gaze wandered to the yacht herself. He could not repress a murmur of admiration.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Blake.
"That yacht," replied the young millionaire. "That's exactly my idea of what I want. I wonder if we can buy her?"
"I don't know, but it's easy to find out."
The lawyer directed the engineer of the motor-boat to put them alongside. As Dick approached nearer his admiration grew, until he had made up his mind that if the interior suited him as well as did the outside that boat would be his.
He saw the name on her stern as they approached—Albatross—and even that pleased him. The yacht was a trim craft, narrow enough in beam to indicate speed, with a high bow to take a heavy sea well, and long enough to afford plenty of room, while her breadth was not such as to make her too much of a roller, or wallower, in the trough of the sea.
Two slender masts, for auxiliary sails, and for signal flags, with the conductors of a wireless apparatus strung between them, rose fore and aft of a buff-colored funnel, rakishly set. In short, the yacht was a beauty.
"On board the Albatross!" called Mr. Blake, when they were within hailing distance.
