However, Max did not allow himself to feel any sort of curiosity in this
direction. It was enough for him to know that the unfortunate man had
fallen upon evil days, and was lying there with a broken leg, perhaps even
dying, and far removed from all doctors.

"We've seen signs around that made us think you were collecting these
mussel shells," he went on.

The boy nodded his head in the affirmative.

"No use denyin' it, mistah, 'case yuh'd see our shack wen yuh git thar,
anyways," he muttered.

"And you've been thinking we'd come up here to beat you out in the game--is
that it?" Max continued.

Another vigorous nod, and a gloomy look answered him.

"Well, that's where you're away off, Jim," Max went on. "We don't care for
the shells, and you're welcome to all we happen to gather, after we've
taken out and eaten the meat. I suppose your dad means to get a load down
the river, and sell the same to some factory that manufactures pearl
buttons?"

"Yep. An' we was a gettin' heaps o' 'em; but if dad he draps off, it's all
busted," Jim replied.

His manner told Max that at least he must cherish a certain amount of
affection for his father.