Contrary to the poor luck that had held all week, so the dockman said, the colonel's good luck was exceptional. Shag had a goodly string of snappers of large size to carry back with him.
“How'd you do it?” asked the boatman, as he made fast the skiff.
“Oh, they just bit and I hauled 'em in,” said the colonel. “By the way,” he went on, “is there a place around here called Allawanda?”
“Yes, there's a little village named that, about ten miles back in the country,” said the boatman.
“Nothing there, though, but a few houses and one store.”
“Oh, I thought it might be quite a place.”
“No, and nobody'd know it was there if there wasn't a boat around here named after it.”
“Is there a boat called that?” asked the colonel, and he tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Yes. The ferryboat that runs from Lakeside to Loch Elarbor is named that. Seems that one of the men in the company that owns it used to live at Allawanda when he was a boy, and he called the boat that. It's an old tub of a ferry, though, about like the town itself, I guess. Well, you sure did have good luck!”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed the colonel, and his luck was better than the boatman guessed, and of a different kind.