"Ain't you going to untangle that line?" inquired the old man,
jerking his thumb.

"What's the use? The worm is dead by this time, and God knows
I prefer to let him rest in peace. The quickest way to untangle a
line is to do it like this."

He severed it with his pocket-knife.

"A line like that costs twenty-five cents," said the old man, a
trace of dismay in his voice.

"That's what it cost when it was new," drawled the other. "You
forget it's been a second-hand article since eight o'clock this
morning,--and what's a second-hand fish-line worth?--tell me that.
How much would you give, in the open market, or at an auction sale,
for a second-hand fish-line?"

"I guess we'd better be gittin' back to the house," said the other,
ignoring the question. "Got to clean these fish if we're expectin'
to have 'em for dinner,--or lunch, as you fellers call it. I'll
bet your grandfather never called it lunch. And as for him callin'
supper DINNER,--why, by crickey, he NEVER got drunk enough for
that."

"More than that," said the young man calmly, "he never saw a cigarette,
or a telephone, or a Ford, or a safety-razor,--or a lot of other
things that have sprung up since he cashed in his checks. To be
sure, he did see a few things I've never seen,--such as clay-pipes,