And this boat had gone from Falmouth to St. Ives Bay, all round the
coast. A larger boat, a ten-ton yacht, about the twentieth of June,
properly fitted out, Durrant said...

"There's the cash difficulty," said Jacob.

"My people'll see to that," said Durrant (the son of a banker,
deceased).

"I intend to preserve my economic independence," said Jacob stiffly. (He
was getting excited.)

"My mother said something about going to Harrogate," he said with a
little annoyance, feeling the pocket where he kept his letters.

"Was that true about your uncle becoming a Mohammedan?" asked Timmy
Durrant.

Jacob had told the story of his Uncle Morty in Durrant's room the night
before.

"I expect he's feeding the sharks, if the truth were known," said Jacob.
"I say, Durrant, there's none left!" he exclaimed, crumpling the bag
which had held the cherries, and throwing it into the river. He saw Lady
Miller's picnic party on the island as he threw the bag into the river.

A sort of awkwardness, grumpiness, gloom came into his eyes.

"Shall we move on... this beastly crowd..." he said.