"Gosh, no!" says Eb. "What's it like?"

"You couldn't tell the difference," says I.

"We git tin tags off'm Sailor's Pride," says Eb. "Save up fifty, and
you git a premium."

"You ought to," says I, "and a pension for life."

"Huh!" says Eb. "It's good eatin' too, Ever chaw any?" and he holds
out the plug invitin'.

"Don't tempt me," says I. "I promised my dear old grandmother I
wouldn't."

"Lookin' a little peaked, ain't you!" says he. "Most city chaps do
when they fust come; but after 'bout a month of this----"

"Chop it, Eb!" says I. "I'm feelin' unhappy enough as it is. A month
of this? Ah, say!"

After awhile we begun stoppin' to bait. Eb would shut off the engine,
run up to a float, haul in a lot of clothesline, and fin'lly pull up an
affair that's a cross between a small crockery crate and an openwork
hen-coop. Next he'd grab a big needle and string a dozen or so of the
gooey fish on a cord. I watched once. After that I turned my back.
By way of bein' obligin', Eb showed me how to roll the flywheel and
start the engine. He said I was a heap stronger in the arms than I
looked, and he didn't mind lettin' me do it right along. Friendly old