"My dear boy, there is no such thing as a cheap yacht, any more than
there is a cheap elephant."

"It's better to buy than build," Jack insisted. "A man's got to have
some recreation."

"Recreation! Why don't you charter a Fifth Avenue stage and take your
friends on a voyage to the Battery? That'll make 'em sick enough." It
was a misery of the Major's life that, in order to keep in with necessary
friends, he had to accept invitations for cruises on yachts, and pretend
he liked it. Though he had the gout, he vowed he would rather walk to
Newport than go round Point Judith in one of those tipping tubs. He had
tried it, and, as he said afterwards, "The devil of it was that Mrs.
Henderson and Miss Tavish sympathized with me. Gad! it takes away a
person's manhood, that sort of thing."

The Major sipped his bitters, and then added: "Or I'll tell you what; if
you must do something, start a newspaper--the drama, society, and
letters, that sort of thing, with pictures. I heard Miss Tavish say she
wished she had a newspaper."

"But," said Jack, with gravity, "I'm not buying a yacht for Miss Tavish."

"I didn't suppose you were. Devilish fine girl, though. I don't care
who you buy it for if you don't buy it for yourself. Why don't you buy
it for Henderson? He can afford it."

"I'd like to know what you mean, Major Fairfax!" cried Jack. "What
business--"