Philip, do come with me and see it."

"Hum."

"Oh, Philip, you are so lazy; do come with me."

"Yes, but, my dear Annette," protested Philip, "this is a warm
day, and I am tired."

Still, his curiosity being aroused, he went grumbling. It was
not a very long drive, back from the beach across the railroad
and through the pine forest to the bank of a dark, slow-flowing
bayou. The fisherman's hut was small, two-roomed, whitewashed,
pine-boarded, with the traditional mud chimney acting as a sort
of support to one of its uneven sides. Within was a weird
assortment of curios from every uncivilized part of the globe.
Also were there fishing-tackle and guns in reckless profusion.
The fisherman, in the kitchen of the mud-chimney, was
sardonically waging war with a basket of little bayou crabs.

"Entrez, mademoiselle et monsieur," he said pleasantly, grabbing
a vicious crab by its flippers, and smiling at its wild attempts
to bite. "You see I am busy, but make yourself at home."

"Well, how on earth--" began Philip.

"Sh--sh--" whispered Annette. "I was driving out in the woods
this morning, and stumbled on the hut. He asked me in, but I came
right over after you."