He never wanted me to have a bit of fun before. He didn't have no fun
when he was a boy. He always worked. That is the German way, he says.

"But he don't have any use for _any_thing German now--not even the way
they bring up children."

"Ain't it a fact?" chuckled Frenchy. "Me mother makes the kids git up
and give me the best chair when I come into the sitting room.

'Git up out o' that,
Ye impident brat!
An' let Mr. M'Ginnis sit down.'

That's the way she treats me. Me head's gettin' that swelled I couldn't
draw a watch cap down over me ears."

The exhaust of the auxiliary engine of the catboat was spitting when
Frenchy hailed their mates. Whistler was loosening the points of the big
sail while Torry worked at the engine.

"How'll we get over there?" demanded Ikey. "There's no boat here."

Whistler Morgan, barefooted and with his sleeves rolled up, came aft and
tossed Ikey the end of a coil of line.

"Draw her in to the float. I'll pay out the mooring cable. What have you
in that basket?"

"A litter of pups a neighbor wants him to drown," answered Frenchy
solemnly. "You fellows brought lunch enough for all, didn't you?"