"Well, suit yourself about that. Of course, you want a good, seaworthy craft, but I shouldn't get one too large. If you do you'll have to engage a big crew to help navigate it; and again, while I have no wish to restrict you in the spending of your fortune, you will find yachting pretty expensive." "Expensive! I should say it was, Mortimer!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee, coming into the dining-room at that moment. "Don't think of letting Richard have a yacht." "We have already discussed that," said Mr. Hamilton, somewhat coldly, "and my mind is made up. Better have something to eat, Ezra." "Well, I will have a bit of dry toast and a cup of weak tea. I don't believe that will give me the dyspepsia," and the butler tried to conceal a smile as he set before the crabbed old man the very frugal repast. Dick and his father talked yachting from the beginning until the end of the meal, and Uncle Ezra Larabee was a silent, but objecting listener. Occasionally a crafty look came over his face, to be replaced by one of agony when Dick mentioned the spending of large sums of money. At length, Mr. Hamilton said: "Well, my boy, I think the simplest way out of it would be for you to go to New York, and look around for yourself. Perhaps you may pick up a bargain in a steam yacht. You have my full permission to do as you think best, only, as I said, don't get too large a craft. Take a week for the task, and I think you'll get what you want." "That's what I'll do, dad. I'll go to New York in a few days, and see what I can do." "Perhaps your Uncle Ezra would like to go with you," went on Mr. Hamilton. "Who, me?" exclaimed the old man, carefully picking up from the table-cloth some crumbs of toast and eating them. "No, Mortimer, I haven't any money to waste on trips to New York. Living is frightfully expensive there." "I'll pay for everything," said Dick, generously. "No--no," and his uncle spoke slowly, and with an evident effort. "I--I--er--I've got to get back to Dankville. I know some of my hired men will waste the oats in feeding the horse, or else they'll burn too much kerosene oil, sitting up nights to read useless books. No, I must get back. The gravel walks need raking, and I always cut my lawn this time of year. I'll go home. But, before I go, I want to have a little talk with you, Mortimer, on a very serious subject." "All right, Ezra. I guess Dick will excuse us." Mr. Hamilton arose from the table, followed by his brother-in-law. As Uncle Ezra pushed back his chair there was a mingled howl and growl, followed by a short bark. "Grit!" cried Dick. "You've stepped on my bulldog, Uncle Ezra!" "Served him right!" snapped the old man. "Dogs have no business in the house. I'd have him shot if he were mine!" An angry retort rose to Dick's lips, but by an effort he calmed himself. "Here, Grit, old fellow," he called soothingly, and the dog crawled up to him, limping slightly.