The lawyer directed the engineer of the motorboat 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. "Aye, aye, sir," answered the old sea dog, pulling at his cap. "I understand that yacht is for sale," went on the lawyer, for, on consulting a list he had, he saw that she was among those he had put down to examine. "She might be, if any one had the money," replied the old sailor, stuffing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe, to tamp down the tobacco. "Well, I have the money," spoke Dick, quickly. "Then come aboard, if you please, sir," was the more genial reply, and the old man walked forward to where an accommodation ladder was suspended, and lowered it. The young millionaire observed that the old sailor walked with a limp, and he at once made up his mind that he had a wooden leg. This diagnosis was confirmed when Dick and Mr. Blake stepped on deck a few seconds later. "Well, here's the _Albatross_, and she's for sale, more's the pity," went on the old man, respectfully. "Many's the voyage I've sailed in her when Mr. Richardson was alive. But he's dead, and the pretty craft's on the market. I'm stayin' here to look after her, and d'ye know," and his voice sank to a whisper, "I've had half a notion, more'n once, to hist the anchor, make sail, an' start for Davy Jones' locker, me an' her together. For I've been on her for so long that she's like a wife to me." "Then she is an old boat?" asked Mr. Blake, apprehensively. "Old enough to know how to weather many a storm that some of the new-fangled craft wouldn't dare venture out in. The only thing I have agin' her is that she's a steamer instead of a sailer, but with her engines stopped she can pick up a bone in her teeth when all her canvas is spread," added the old man, proudly. "She has new engines and boilers, and she's fit to make a trip around the world starting to-morrow; and I wish she was!" "Maybe she will!" cried Dick, enthusiastically. "I think I'll take her, Mr. Blake. The _Albatross_ is just what I want." "Wait until you go below," suggested the lawyer with a smile. "Will you show us down, Mr.--er--Mr.--?" he paused significantly.