The wind not only came sharp and strong, an hour later, but there were thunder-clouds in the sky, down near the horizon-line, and the breeze was full of quick flaws and was treacherous. Before they were half-way over to Stoneland, they were sailing under two reefs and making the water fly. “It’s great!” cried Harvey, hugging the wheel, in his delight. “Let her blow good and hard as long as it doesn’t storm. We’ll do the fifteen miles in an hour and a half, at this rate.” The two yachts were lying well over in the water, crushing it white under the lee-rail, and making fast time. “We’ll get a storm, too, by nightfall,” said Henry Burns, looking weather-wise at the sky. “But we shall have sold our fish first, and we’ll be snug behind the breakwater. So let it come.” The yachtsmen were in great spirits. Even Henry Burns betrayed symptoms of excitement as they ran into the harbour, early in the forenoon, and brought the _Viking_ up neatly at the hotel wharf. A few minutes later, Henry Burns and Jack Harvey approached a somewhat important-appearing person on the hotel veranda, who had been pointed out to them as the proprietor. “Fish? No, I don’t buy fish,” he answered, shortly, in reply to Henry Burns’s question. “See the steward. He attends to that.” Harvey reddened, but Henry Burns smiled and said: “That’s all right, Jack. We’re only fishermen, you know. Come on, we’ll see the steward. We’ll make him pay more for the fish, just because the proprietor was haughty.” Henry Burns was fortunate enough to catch the steward in the hotel office, where he stated his errand, coolly, before some of the guests. “Good!” exclaimed one of them. “You’d better get ’em, Mr. Blake. You haven’t given us any fresh mackerel this season.” “He’ll have to buy some, now, whether he wants to or not,” said Henry Burns to Harvey, as they followed the steward into his private office. “Now see here,” said the steward, “I’ve got some six hundred guests in this house, and I need about three hundred fish. I want a fairly easy price for that many.” “Twenty cents apiece, right through,” answered Henry Burns, promptly. “Ho! That’s too much,” said the steward. “Can’t do it. Try again.” “That’s the figure,” insisted Henry Burns. “You’ll have to pay more, if we sell them to the market, you know. Then there’s the hotel up the shore. What would your boarders say if we took them up there and sold them?” Steward Blake looked at Henry Burns sternly for a moment; then a grim smile played about the corners of his mouth. “You’re kind of sharp, aren’t you?” he asked. “Well, I guess you’ve got me there, as these are the first of the season. Throw in an extra dozen for good measure, and it’s a bargain.” “All right,” said Henry Burns.