So they contented themselves with a long distance inspection from the shore. The _Goodfellow_, in Tom’s view, seemed rather the worse for her long period at anchor. She looked neglected. Her white sides were dirty and there was, even from the distant shore, the appearance of neglect about her. She lay well clear of the area of navigation and was safely padlocked to her buoy as Tom could tell by her heavy mooring chain. A boat is at home in the water and will not deteriorate riding at anchor. But just the same the sprightly _Goodfellow_ seemed to be suffering from the fickleness and neglect of her wealthy young owner. The flag-pole was broken. The awning over the cockpit was torn and its loose shreds flapped in the breeze. One thing in particular Tom noticed, which seemed quite at variance with the former spick and span appearance of the little cruiser. The port-holes seemed to be covered inside with some dusty looking material, which might have been torn from the ruined awning. Why the caretaker should have thought it desirable to put these makeshift shades in the unoccupied craft, Tom could not imagine. But on second thought it seemed not so surprising. It would confound the curiosity of strangers, boys especially, who might row out and try to peek into the sumptuous little cabin. Another thing he noticed which he could not so easily explain. This was an area of sooty black at the top of the little smokestack from the galley. Probably it had been there before and he had never noticed it.... On the way to camp he said to Brent, “Seeing her neglected like that only makes me want her all the more.” “You love her for herself alone,” said Brent in his droll way. “I read in a book,” said Tom, “that if a fellow wants a thing and wants it bad enough and keeps on wanting it, in the end he’ll get it.” “That isn’t what you read, Tommy,” said Brent. “You’re thinking of something that Stevenson said; ‘What a man wants, that thing he will get. Or he will be changed in the trying.’ That’s what you’re thinking of, Tommy. A man can have anything he wants if he’s willing to pay the price.” “Well, I haven’t got the price,” said Tom soberly. He seemed quite simple and unsophisticated beside Brent. “How do you know you haven’t?” Brent said. “I know whether I’ve got two thousand dollars or not, don’t I?” Tom said sullenly. “Yes, but how do you know two thousand dollars is the _price_?” “Because the caretaker told me,” said Tom. “What are you trying to do, kid me? You can’t buy a thing if you haven’t got the price, can you? You get on my nerves.” “I can have the gold trophy cup in the glass case in Administration Shack if I want to pay the price,” Brent drawled. “I can steal it.” “And you’d go to jail.” “Sure, that would be the _price_, Tommy,” said Brent. CHAPTER XIII TOM GETS HIS WISH