Chapter VIII

Dab Kinzer and his friend were prompt enough in coming to the rescue of their unfortunate fellow-crabber; but to get him out of the queer wreck he had made of that punt was a tough task.

"I isn't drownin'," exclaimed Dick, heroically, as the other boat came up beside him. "Jest you take yer scoop-net an' save dem crabs."

"They wont drown," said Ford.

"But they'll get away," said Dab, snatching the scoop. "Dick's head is level on that point."

The side boards of the old punt were under water half the time, but the crabs were pretty well penned in. Even a couple of them that had mistaken Dick's wool for another sheep's-head were secured without difficulty.

"What luck he'd been having!" said Ford. "He always does," said Dab. "I say, Dick, how'll I scoop you in?"

"Has you done got all de crabs?"

"Every pinner of 'em."

"Den jest you wait a minute."

They were quite likely to wait, for the shining black face had instantly disappeared.

"Sunk!" exclaimed Ford.

"There he comes," replied Dab. "He'd swim ashore from here, and not half try. Why, I could swim twice as far as that, myself."

"Could you? I couldn't."

That was the first time Dab had heard his new acquaintance make a confession of inability, and he could see a more than usually thoughtful expression on his face. The coolness and skill of Dick Lee had not been thrown away on him.

"If I had my clothes off," said Ford, "I'd try that on."

"Dab Kinzer, you's de best feller dar is. Wot'll we do wid de ole boat?" burst out Dick on coming to the surface.

"Let the tide carry her in while we're crabbing. She isn't worth mending, but we'll tow her home."

"All right," said Dick, as he grasped the gun-wale of Dab's boat and began to climb over.

"Hold on, Dick."

"I is a-holdin' on."

"I mean wait a bit. Aint you wet?"

"Ob course I's wet."

"Well, then, you stay in there till you get dry. It's well you didn't have your new clothes on."

"Aint I glad about dem!" emphatically exclaimed the young African. "Nebber mind dese clo'es. De water on 'em's all good, dry water, like de res' ob de bay."

And, so saying, Dick tumbled over in, with a spatter which made Ford Foster tread on two or three crabs in getting away from it. It was not the first time by many that Dick Lee had found himself bathing without time given him to undress.

And now it was discovered that the shipwrecked crabber had never for one instant loosened his hold of the line to the other end of which was fastened his precious sheep's-head.

It was a regular crabbing crew, two to pull up and one to scoop in, and never had the sprawling "game" been more plentiful on that crab pasture, or more apparently in a hurry to be captured.

"What on earth shall we do with them all?" asked Ford.

"Soon's we've got a mess for both our folks, we'll quit this and go for some fish," replied Dab. "The clams are good bait, and we can try some of your tackle."

Ford's face brightened a good deal at the suggestion, for he had more than once cast a crestfallen look at his pretentious box. But he replied:

"A mess! How many crabs can one man eat?"

"I don't know," said Dab. "It depends a good deal on who he is. Then, if he eats the shells, he can't take in so many."

"Eat de shells? Yah, yah, yah! Dat beats my mudder! She's allers a-sayin' wot a waste de shells make," laughed Dick. "I jest wish we might ketch some fish. I dasn't kerry home no crabs."

"It does look as if we'd got as many as we'd know what to do with," remarked Dab, as he looked down on the sprawling multitude in the bottom of the boat. "We'll turn the clams out of the basket and fill that; but we mustn't put any crabs in the fish-car. We'll stow 'em forward."

The basket held more than half a bushel, but there was a "heap" of what Ford Foster called "the crusties" to pen up in the bow of the boat.

That duty attended to, and Dick was set at the oars, while Dab selected from Ford's box just the very hooks and lines their owner had made least account of.

"What'll we catch, Dab?"

"Most anything. Nobody knows till he's done it. Perch, porgies, cunners, black-fish, weak-fish, may be a bass or a sheep's-head, but more cunners than anything else, except we strike some flounders at the turn of the tide."

"That's a big enough assortment to set up a fish-market on."

"If we catch 'em. We've got a good enough day, anyhow, and the tide'll be about right by the time we get to work."

"Why not try here?"

"'Cause there's no fish to speak of, and because the crabs'll clean your hook for you as fast as you can put the bait on. We must go out to deeper water and better bottom. Dick knows just where to go. You might hang your line out all day and not get a bite, if you didn't strike the right spot."

Ford made no answer, for it was beginning to dawn upon him that he could teach the "long-shore boys," black or white, very little about fishing. He even allowed Dab to pick out a line for him and put on the hook and sinker, and Dick Lee showed him how to fix his bait, "So de fust cunner dat rubs agin it wont knock it off. Dem's awful mean fish. Good for nuffin but steal bait."

A merry party they were, and the salt water was rapidly drying from the garments of the colored oarsman, as he pulled strongly and skillfully out into the bay and around toward a deep cove to the north of the inlet mouth.

Then, indeed, for the first time in his life, Ford Foster learned what it was to catch fish.

Not but what he had spent many an hour, and even day, in and about other waters: but he had never had two such born fishermen at his elbow to take him to the right place precisely, and then to show him what to do when he got there.

Fun enough, for the fish bit well, and some of them were of very encouraging size and weight.

Ford would have given half the hooks and lines in his box if he could have caught from Dick or Dab the curious "knack" they seemed to have of coaxing the biggest of the finny folks to their bait and then over into the boat.

"Never mind, Ford," said Dab; "Dick and I are better acquainted with 'em. They're always a little shy with strangers at first. They don't really mean to be impolite."

Still, it almost looked like some sort of favoritism, and there was no danger but that Dick would be able to appease the mind of his mother without making any mention of the crabs.

At last, almost suddenly, and as if by common consent, the fish stopped biting, and the two "'long-shore boys" began to put away their lines.

"Going to quit?" asked Ford.

"Time's up and tide's turned," responded Dab. "Not another bite, most likely, till late this evening. Might as well pull up and go home."

"Mus' look for wot's lef ob de ole scow on de way home," said Dick. "I'se boun' to ketch it for dat good-for-not'in' ole board."

"We'll find it and tow it in," said Dab, "and perhaps we can get it mended. Anyhow, you can go with us next week. We're going to make a cruise in Ham Morris's yacht. Will you go?"

"Will I go? Yoop!" almost yelled the excited boy. "Dat's jest de one t'ing I'd like to jine. Wont we hab fun! She's jest de bes' boat on dis hull bay. You aint foolin' me, is yer?"

He was strongly assured that his young white associates were in sober earnest about both their purpose and their promise, and, after that, he insisted on rowing all the distance home.

On the way, the old punt was taken in tow; but the tide had swept it so far inside the mouth of the inlet, that there was less trouble in pulling it the rest of the way. It was hardly worth the labor, but Dab knew what a tempest the loss of it might bring around the ears of poor Dick.

When they reached the landing and began to overhaul their very brilliant "catch," Dabney said:

"Now, Dick, take your string home, leave that basket of crabs at Mr. Foster's, then come back with the basket and carry the rest to our house. Ford and I'll see to the rest of the fish."

"I haven't caught half so many as you have, either of you," said Ford, as he saw with what even-handed justice the fish were divided, in three piles, as they were scooped out of the "fish-car."

"What of that?" replied Dabney. "We follow fisherman's rules down this way. Share and share alike, you know. All the luck is outside the boat, they say. Once the fish are landed, your luck's as good as mine."

"Do they always follow that rule?"

"The man that broke it wouldn't find company very easily, hereabouts, next time he wanted to go a-fishing. No, nor for anything else. Nobody'd boat with him."

"Well, if it's the regular thing," said Ford, hesitatingly. "But I'll tell who really caught 'em."

"Oh, some of yours are right good ones. Your string would look big enough, some days. Don't you imagine you can pull 'em in every time like we did this morning. Crabs nor fish, either."

"No, I s'pose not. Anyhow, I've learned some things."

"I guess likely. We'll go for some more next week. Now for a tug!"

The boat had already been made fast, and the two boys picked up their strings of fish, two for each, after Dick Lee had started for home, and heavy ones they were to carry under that hot sun.

"Come and show the whole lot to my mother," said Ford, "before you take yours into the house. I want her to see them all."

"All right," replied Dab. But he little dreamed of what was coming, for, when he and Ford marched proudly into the sitting-room with their finny prizes, Dabney found himself face to face with, not good, sweet-voiced Mrs. Foster, but, as he thought, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen.

Ford Foster shouted: "Annie! you here? Well, I never!"

But Dab Kinzer wished all those fish safely back again, swimming in the bay.

(To be continued.)