“I sure am,” answered Bob. “But what’s the matter with Captain Joe?”
“Not a thing in the world,” said the soft hat boy. “He’s out o’ sight. But, bein’ a tender foot, you ain’t in right. We’re waitin’ to put you wise.”
Bob laughed. The two boys were smiling and evidently amused.
“I reckon,” continued the boy with the southern tone, “that we all ain’t no bus’ness a overhearin’ what yo’ told Captain Joe, but we was waitin’ fo’ ouah crab loaves, an’ we kain’t hep it.”
As his smile broadened, he lifted the loaf under his arm to Bob’s nose. From its interior came a most appetizing odor of something newly fried.
“What’s that?” asked Bob, his mouth watering.
“That?” repeated the other boy, also holding up his package. “Them’s soft shell crabs—fried. They jist melt in yer mouth. Want some?”
Bob’s smile was answer enough. The other boys looked at each other as if to say, “It’s all right, he’ll do.” Then the boy in the cap said:
“We all heard yo’ tell Cap’en Joe about yo’sef. My name’s Tom Allen. I live hyah in Pensacola. This is Harry Burton. Yo’ can call him Hal right away, so he’ll know whom youah addressin’. He lives in Cincinnati, but he comes hyah each wintah. We jes’ been to the Coffee House a securin’ some refreshments. An’ we ah now on ouah way to dispose of them.”