And so, amid the farewells of a tender, protesting family, he got off,
leaving Edith in the midst of one of her monologues.

There was a telegram in New York saying that Aleck Van Camp would join
him in three days, at the latest. Hambleton disliked the club and left
it, although his first intention had been to put up there. He picked out
a modest, up-town hotel, new to him, for no other reason than that it had
a pretty name, The Larue. Then he began to consider details.

The day after his arrival was occupied in making arrangements for his
boat. He put into this matter the same painstaking buoyancy that he had
put into a dull business for twelve years. He changed his plans half a
dozen times, and exceeded them wholly in the size and equipment of the
little vessel, and in the consequent expense; but he justified himself,
as men will, by a dozen good reasons. The trig little sail-boat turned
out to be a respectable yacht, steam, at that. She was called the _Sea
Gull_. Neat in the beam, stanch in the bows, rigged for coasting and
provided with a decent living outfit, she was "good enough for any
gentleman," in the opinion of the agent who rented her. Jim was half
ashamed at giving up the more robust scheme of sailing his own boat, with
Aleck; but some vague and expansive spirit moved him "to see," as he
said, "what it would be like to go as far and as fast as we please."
While they were about it, they would call on some cousins at Bar Harbor
and get good fun out of it.

The idea of his holiday grew as he played with it. As his spin took on a
more complicated character, his zest rose. He went forth on Sunday
feeling as if some vital change was impending. His little cruise loomed
up large, important, epochal. He laughed at himself and thought, with
his customary optimism, that a vacation was worth waiting twelve years