BUYING A BOAT

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 16, 9 April 1927, Page 8

BUYING A BOAT

(Written for THE SIX.) \ BOAT is not a simple thing: to buy. You don’t just go into a shop and say. I want a boat, please. No, I won’t take it with me. I’ll get you to send it round by this evening's delivery.” You don’t take your old boat into the shop and put it on the counter with a request for “ another one like That please.” Buying- a boat is an affair of diplomacy. You stand people drinks and ask them, as though you don’t care a straw either way, whether they’ve a boat to sell. If so, you rather thought of thinking about buying one one day. It is bad form, I believe, to commit yourself to the statement that you want to buy a boat. It is like saying that you’re going to marry a girl for her money. It is one of those things you keep to yourself. Once a friend and I resolved to buy a boat. At first, my friend rather wanted a yacht—a steam-yacht for choice, though he was not particular about that. He merely wanted something he could board and sit about on in deck chairs, while the faithful creature took him to Russell and TauI made discreet inquiries about the cost of a yacht. It seemed rather an expensive sort of thing. And then there was the crew—it appeared that for the kind of yacht we contemplated we should need a skipper, a mate, an assortment of sailormen, a boy and a cook.

My friend seemed disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm. He pointed out that the detail of the crew could be dispensed with, proffering the simple scheme that he would skip, and I could do all the other things. Ultimately we determined that a quite small craft would suit us much better, and so I began to look about for a rowing boat. People told me they could be bought then for next to nothing and that was about my price. I used to walk along the harbour and over the shore, inspecting the relics of bygone seamen which were moored to the wharf. Some of these boats were kept together by the thick coats of paint on them; others, I verily 7 believe, only held together through sheer force of habit. It does not do to show ignorance, so I asked if it was the usual schoonerrig and had it a centre-board to its mizzen? That settled him. He looked at me in a puzzled way for several long minutes and edged off. In the days that followed I interviewed several people who wanted to sell me boats, and at last I came on a boat I really wanted. It was not graceful. It no •longer had the first flush of youth about it; indeed, I should not have been surprised to learn that it was the original boat used by Shem, Ham and Japhet when they put ashore to see whether there were any letters for them. What attracted me about this boat was its spacious width: the man who could capsize it was not yet born I was looking at it when an ancient mariner approached me. “ AVas you wanting to buy a boat?” he queried. “ That one’s for sale.” Of course, following the rules of the game, I told him I did not want to buy a boat; that I had never had any thought of buying a boat, that I would rather keep white mice any day; and lastly, just as a joke, how much did he think of asking for it? He said £l2, and I said good-day. Such was the first of a series of 17 interviews with Mr. Joseph Slinks. I used to go down to the wharf daily to deride the boat. I used to point out to Mr. Slinks its many defects, wax sarcastic over its bloated build, sadly point out that its constitution was hourly breaking up. At each visit his price would drop a little. It depended, I fancy, on the state of his health. Sometimes he would knock off ten shillings, sometimes half-a-crown; on one occasion he made a reduction of eleven-pence. At last I wore him down to £4 8s; the boat changed ownership, and I went home and increased my life assurance policy.

My friend was as enthusiastic over the purchase as I was. We embarked at once on the Waterlily for a trial trip. I shoved off, my friend steered. I had rowed half a dozen strokes, in my best style —you know the one you adopt when you’re positively certain the girl in the yellow hat is looking a 4 you—when suddenly my friend climbed on to the seat. It seemed that our weight had brought the Waterlily lower into the water than she had been for some time, and now she was freely revealing the fact that she leaked. I sat with my feet in the swelling tide and got the boat back to shore. Then I went in search of Mr. Slink. He was not to be found. Disinterested expert advice told us the boat needed

overhauling, and next day my friend and I began the process. After three days we put the Waterlily back. She no longer leaked, but her exterior new paint made her interior look shabby. We painted her seats, her sides, and her floor, but our enthusiasm was beginning to wane. Now she looked dingy about the bulwarks (I mean those parts which are not sides, but at the top—you know, I mean the sort of rail that runs round her). Anyway we varnished them "four times—once to provide a first coat; twice to provide a second first coat in place of the one taken away by careless mariners sitting on our boat; thrice for a second coat; and four times because we had enough varnish left for it. The Waterlily looked really smart now, and we were contemplating our handiwork with pride when a stranged approached us. “ That the old Shamrock?” he asked. “We’ve been smartening her up a bit,” I said. “So I see. What did you do it for?” “ Thought she’d look better for it,” I explained. “ Well, it’s real good of you,” he said. “ I’m much obliged to you for it.” “You’re much obliged?” “ Me. It’s my boat you know.” “ Nonsense, why I bought it off Mr. Slinks. I’ve got his receipt.” “ Slinks! Why it ain’t his to sell. I got him to keep an eye on it for me while I was away with the fishing boats. Anyone’ll tell you it’s my boat.” “ But I've already spent a pound on it, apart from what I gave for it,” I spluttered. “ Where’s Slinks? That accounts for my not seeing him lately.” “ Well, you ain’t likely to see him again. He’d arranged months ago to emigrate to Canada, and he’s gone. Went last Friday. But I’ll tell you have let you have her for a pound, onlv what, master, I’ll sell you the old Shamrock there for two pounds. I’d she looks so smart now that it’s only right I should get a bit more for her.” I closed with the offer, and the Waterlily (nee Shamrock) became our absolute property. —V.A.W.H.