"This," she explained, "is Harbor Castle from the bay. That is
their yacht in the foreground."

The post-card showed a very beautiful yacht of not less than two
thousand tons. Beneath it was printed "HARBOR LIGHTS; steam yacht
owned by Fletcher Farrell." I always had dreamed of owning a steam
yacht, and seeing it stated in cold type that one was owned by
"Fletcher Farrell," even though I was not that Fletcher Farrell,
gave me a thrill of guilty pleasure. I gazed upon the post-card
with envy.

"HARBOR LIGHTS is a strange name for a yacht," I ventured. Miss
Briggs smiled.

"Not for that yacht," she said. "She never leaves it."

I wished to learn more of my would-be parents, and I wished to keep
on talking with the lovely Miss Briggs, so, as an excuse for both,
I pretended I was interested in the Farrells because I had
something I wanted to sell them.

"This Fletcher Farrell must be very rich," I said. " I wonder," I
asked, "if I could sell him an automobile?" The moment I spoke I
noticed that the manner of Miss Briggs toward Me perceptibly
softened. Perhaps, from my buying offhand a fifty-dollar book she
had thought me one of the rich, and had begun to suspect I was
keeping her waiting on me only because I found her extremely easy
to look at. Many times before, in a similar manner, other youths
must have imposed upon her, and perhaps, also, in concealing my