Harbor."

"Sho!" says he, removin' his pipe and beginnin' to act human.

"Happen to know Ira?" says I.

"Ought to," says he. "First cousins. You from Boston?"

"Why, Cap!" says I. "What have I ever done to you? Now, honest, do I
look like I--but I'll forgive you this time. New York, Cap: not
Brooklyn, or Staten Island or the Bronx, you know, but straight New
York, West 17th-st. And I've come all this way just to see Mr.
Higgins."

"Gosh!" says he. "Ira always did have all the luck."

Next crack he calls me Sorrel Top, and inside of five minutes we was
joshin' away chummy, me up on a tall stool alongside, and him pointin'
out all the sights. And, believe me, the State of Maine's got some
scenery scattered along the wet edge of it! Honest, it's nothin' but
scenery,--rocks and trees and water, and water and trees and rocks, and
then a few more rocks.

"How about when you hit one of them sharp ones?" says I.

"Government files a new edge on it," says he. "They keep a gang that
does nothin' else."

"Think of that!" says I. "I don't see any lobsters floatin' around,
though."