"And the swordfish got the award?"
"After quite a little debate. Plenty of people had their own favorites, the white shark and the killer whale among others, but when it came to a sort of informal vote, the swordfish was chosen almost unanimously."
"I shall be glad to pay my respects to His Majesty," answered Colin with a laugh, as the director wheeled his chair to his desk, "and I'm ever so much obliged for the opportunity."
The next morning, after having hauled the trap, Colin jumped aboard the Phalarope, which was going to New Bedford for supplies for the station, and which was to take him there to join Dr. Jimson on a swordfish schooner. A large portion of the surface of Buzzards Bay was dotted with billets of wood, about six inches thick and painted in all manner of colors. Some were red, some white, some black, some yellow and blue, some striped in all manner of gaudy hues.
"I've been wondering," said Colin, as he stood in the pilot house chatting to the captain of the little steamer, "what all those sticks in the water are?"
The captain took his pipe out of his mouth to stare at him in surprise, as he turned the wheel a spoke or two.
"Don't you know that?" he said. "Those are lobster-pot buoys."
"You mean there's a lobster-pot attached to every one of those?"
"Yes, of course."