Mr. Dodge, "and I will try to
get you something to do. You are all welcome to my house and help as
long as you may have need."

It had been dawning more and more on Ken that he had been an idiot not
to stay in town, where there _was_ work to do. He had hated to prick
Phil's ideal bubble and cancel the lease on the farm,--for it was really
she who had picked out the place,--but he was becoming aware that he
should have done so. This latest turn in the Sturgis fortunes made it
evident that something must be done to bring more money than the
invested capital yielded. There was no work here; unless perhaps he
might hire out as a farm-hand, at small wages indeed. And he knew
nothing of farm work. Nevertheless, he and Felicia shook their heads at
Mr. Dodge's proposal. They sat at the table within the mellow ring of
lamplight, after Kirk had gone to bed, and thrashed out their
problem,--pride fighting need and vanquishing judgment. It was a good
letter that Kenelm sent Mr. Dodge, and the attorney shook his own head
as he read it in his study, and said:

"I admire your principle, my boy--but oh, I pity your inexperience!"

CHAPTER VII

A MAYING

The City Transfer bill was paid; so were the other bills. Ken, on his
way out from Asquam, stopped with a sudden light in his dogged face and
turned back. He sought out the harbor-master, who was engaged in
painting a dory behind his shop.

"Wal, boy, want to get a fish-hook?" he queried, squinting toward Ken
with a preoccupied eye. (He sold hardware and fishing-tackle, as well as
attending to the duties of his post.)

Ken disclaimed any desire for the fish-hook, and said he wanted to ask
about a boat.

"Ain't got none for sale ner hire, just now," the harbor-master replied.

Ken said, so he had heard, but that wasn't it. And he told the man about
the abandoned power-boat in the inlet. The harbor-master stood up
straight and looked at Ken, at last.

"Wal, ding!" said he. "That's Joe Pasquale's boat, sure's I'm
a-standin' here!"

"Who," said Ken, "is Joe Pasquale?"

"He is--or _woz_--a Portugee fisherman--lobsterman, ruther. He got
drownded in Febrerry--fell outen his boat, seems so, an' we got _him_,
but we never got the boat. Couldn't figger wher' she _had_ got to. He
was down harbor when 't happent. Cur'ous tide-racks 'round here."

"Whose is she, then?" Ken asked. "Any widows or orphans?"

"Nary widder," said the harbor-master, chewing tobacco reflectively.