"Sinful heart makes feeble hand."
We walk silently towards the woods. We meet a small boy with a tin pail and thirty-six fishes in it. We accost him.
"Are these fishes for sale?" asks Halicarnassus.
"Bet they be!" says small boy, with energy.
Halicarnassus looks meaningly at me. I look meaningly at Halicarnassus, and both look meaningly at our empty basket.
"Won't you tell?" says Halicarnassus.
"No; won't you?" Halicarnassus whistles, the fishes are transferred from pan to basket, and we walk away as "chirp as a cricket," reach the sylvan party, and are speedily surrounded.
"O what beauties! Who caught them? How many are there?"
"Thirty-six," says Halicarnassus, in a lordly, thoroughbred way. "I caught 'em."
"In a tin pan," I exclaim, disgusted with his conceit, and determined to "take him down."