“Huh.... And what were you after?” he says to me.
“More oysters,” I says.
“They were going to roll in oysters,” Mr. House says to Mr. Robbins. “Say, don’t you know oysters aren’t good to eat for two months yet?”
“No,” says Catty, “the man told us they were ripe now, and all we had to do was to dig them and shuck them.”
“I’ll be jiggered!” says Mr. House.
“I don’t see anything funny about it,” says Catty. “You were digging, too. Weren’t you after oysters?”
“No,” says Mr. Robbins, “we weren’t after oysters exactly. We were digging for——”
“Baked beans,” says Mr. House with a face as grave as a deacon’s. “Boston Baked Beans. This is the best bean beach in America. There are places where you get them with more pork, but not a place in the world where the beans themselves are half as large.”
Of a sudden Mr. Robbins got fierce, and he pointed his finger in Catty’s face, “Now, young man, no fooling, if you know what’s good for you. What did you see?”
“We saw you digging a hole, and you didn’t act like you were finding any—baked beans in the bottom of it,” says Catty.