"
"Too much. What's the King doing?"
"He's poised, feeling with his antennae, sensing his direction."
"I like it," Oliver said.
"Yeah, come over and see it."
"We talked about Friendship sloops," Oliver said, after a swallow of
Guinness. "They're big on boats at Pilgrim Atlantic."
"Boats!" George shook his head wonderingly.
"Actually, I like them," Oliver said, "I wouldn't mind trying to make
one some day. There was a dinghy that belonged to a neighbor of ours
where I grew up. It was very light on the water. Light--but curved and
strong--like a winter oak leaf that had drifted down. Herreschoff. It
was a Herreschoff dinghy. He was the Mozart of boat designers."
"Like to see that," George said.
"It was white," Oliver said. "Always seemed freshly painted. Owl, my
stepfather, liked boats. He died in one, or--off one. _Graceful things
are stronger than they look._ He told me that once. It's almost a
definition."
"Easy to see. Hard to make," George said.
Two pints later, Oliver slapped George on the back and walked to the
parking garage. It occurred to him, as he drove home, that he had
forgotten Pilgrim Atlantic for a whole hour.
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