"Well, for my part, I'd sooner buy a real wreck," Driggs announced.
"This may be an auctioneer's idea of honor. What was his name?"

"The auctioneer's name? Caswell," Dick answered.

"I'll make a note of that name," said Driggs, drawing out notebook
and pencil, "and keep away from any auction that has a man named
Caswell on the quarter-deck. Now, boys, what do you want to know
about this canoe that your eyes don't tell you?"

"About how much would it cost us to fix her?" asked Prescott.

"Thirty dollars---maybe thirty-two," said Driggs, after another
casual look at the canoe.

"Let's announce the bonfire for to-night," urged Greg.

"We haven't any such sum of money, Mr. Driggs," Dick went on.

"Too bad, boys, for you'd probably have a lot of fun in this craft.
If you want to sell it, maybe I could allow you four dollars
for the craft as she stands."

"We'd hate to part with the canoe," Dick continued.

"I know, I know," remarked Driggs sympathetically. "It was wanting
a boat badly when I was a boy that drove me into the boat business.
But I didn't have to handle birch bark then, or my first craft
would have sunk me. Say, boys, great joke how young Ripley got