“What do you make of him, Larry?” Dick asked as soon as their guest was beyond hearing.
“I don’t know. I’m puzzled. What’s your opinion?”
“Put it in the plural, for I’ve a different opinion every time I think about it at all.”
“Anyhow,” said Tom, “he must be crazy. Just think—”
“Yes,” interrupted Cal, “but just think also how soundly he thinks. Let’s just call him eccentric and let it go at that. And who wouldn’t be eccentric, after living alone in the woods for so long?”
“After all,” Dick responded, “we’re not a commission in lunacy, and we’re not under the smallest necessity of defining his mental condition.”
“No,” Cal assented; “it’s a good deal better to enjoy his company and his talk than to bother our heads about the condition of his. He’s one of the most agreeable men I ever met—bright, cheerful, good natured, scrupulously courteous, and about the most interesting talker I ever listened to. So I for one give up trying to answer conundrums, and I’m going to bed. I wouldn’t if he were here to go on talking, but after an evening with him to lead the conversation, I find you fellows dull and uninteresting. Good night. Oh, by the way, I’ll slip away from here about daylight and get some pan fish for breakfast.”
Early as Cal was in setting out, he found Dunbar on the shore ready to go with him.
“I hope to get a shark,” the naturalist said, “one big enough to show a well-developed jaw, and they’re apt to bite at this early hour. I’ve a line in the boat there with a copper wire snell.”
“Are you specially interested in sharks?”