“What I think she’s worth isn’t within reason,” Dugan said from the ladder. But he descended. Idly, he reached overhead to a row of rolled nautical charts nestling beneath the beams. He withdrew one and spread it on the chart table. He had long, graceful hands, but had lost a finger. For a long time he stood, apparently studying the coastline. With his back to Mitch he said quietly: “I used to take her north all the way to Alaska, most summers. I’d talk to the fishermen, you learn a lot. Put in to Eureka, or lay-to offshore. Astoria, Seattle, go all the way to Anchorage.” He paused. “Planned to go back last year. Just to keep her young.”

“Why didn’t you?” Mitch asked. The man’s longing was palpable.

“Maybe I will. I don’t really want to sell.” Dugan turned to face them. “If you bought her, would you leave her here, or what?”

“We would sell our house,” Lindy said suddenly, “and move aboard, and cruise her far and wide.”

Mitch’s heart thumped. He glanced at her gratefully. Her cheeks were red, from embarrassment: she was not happy with theatrics. But she was looking dead into his own eyes: by Christ, she had meant it. She turned back to Dugan. “She would be used, Mr. Dugan. Believe me.”

“Andy,” shrugged Dugan. “Andy’s OK. Far and wide? That has a nice ring. Where? The South Pacific? Every yachtsman’s dream? People plan. Damn few ever leave.”

“We’d leave,” said Lindy staunchly. “The Marquesas, Tahiti, Les Iles sous le Vent...”

Dugan caressed an oaken knee over the chart table. “Northern timber, she’s bred in the north for the north. The tropics might open her up.”

Mitch promised him that the tropics would not. Dugan was wavering and Lindy had done it. Dugan wanted to know how he would change her.

Mitch’s first impulse was to tell him that he’d leave everything the way it was. But instead he leveled. He admitted he’d paint over the varnished brightwork topside, for easier maintenance in the tropics; he’d replace the standing rigging with stainless, so that he wouldn’t be fighting rust; he’d substitute dacron for manila, and get synthetic sails.

“In other words,” Dugan pointed out, “you don’t like work.”

Christ, he couldn’t win. The guy just didn’t want to sell. “There’d be plenty of work for two people, just sailing her.”

“She sails herself. I sailed her alone.” The blue eyes pierced his own. “Would you put in a Diesel? I mean, if I did sell.”

He nodded, and scored for the first time, even without help from Lindy. “Yes, Perkins, or a Westerbeke.”