A muttered grunt was the only reply. The old man was spinning the fly-wheel over, after making a few adjustments of the gasoline and spark supply. A moment later the motor was sputtering and coughing, and the launch was struggling at her moorings. Lem cast off and ran the craft about the harbor for a while. At the conclusion of the test he was satisfied that the old man actually did understand the workings of gasoline motors. Returning to the wharf, it only remained for a bargain to be struck, and this was speedily done. But Lem still held out for something more. "Seein' as I don't know you an' you're takin' ther boat out alone, I ought ter hev a deposit or suthin'," he declared, his eyes narrowing. "What's your boat worth?" demanded the old man. "Wa'al, I paid a thousand fer her," rejoined Lem, who had only doubled the actual sum the launch cost him. "Here you are." The old man reached into a recess of his black coat and produced a roll of currency, which Lem later declared to his cronies would have "choked a horse." Rapidly peeling off several bills of large denomination, he paid the exorbitant deposit, plus the price agreed upon for the hire of the boat for the night. Lem, too astonished to do more than stutter, pocketed the money without a word. "One thing more," said the old man; "we shall need a small boat to tow along." "Oh, then yer goin' ter land some place?" Lem, having recovered the use of his voice, had also regained his rural curiosity. The old man regarded him angrily, and then, in his peculiar, snarling voice, he whipped out: "What's that to you? We've paid you too much for your boat, and you know it. Here's fifty dollars more. That's not to ask any questions and not to answer any." "Oh, I'll keep mum," Lem assured him, pocketing the extra money with sparkling eyes. "When you're ready to go, I'll have a small boat ready for you, never fear." "Good. We'll be here at five o'clock sharp." The old man and his companion sauntered off up the street. Lem watched them till they entered the Bellport Hotel. Then, to himself, he exclaimed in tones that fairly burst out of him: "Wa'al, what d'ye know about that? Them chaps is either lunatics or millionaires, or both. Wa'al, it's none of my affair, an' there might be things I wouldn't do for fifty dollars, but keepin' my mouth shut for a while ain't one of 'em. What a yarn I'll have ter tell when them two chaps gets out of town! Kain't get over thet old feller, though. Fer all his years, he's spry as a boy; suthin' mighty funny about both on 'em." With this, Lem resumed his seat on the edge of the wharf and dismissed the matter from his mind as far as was possibly consistent with the knowledge of the--to him--gigantic sum reposing in his blue jeans.