Shayne strolled out to the end of the pier and looked down at the little boat with its cane pole and tin can filled with bait.
“I reckon,” drawled Shayne, “you-all’re goin’ fishin’.”
“Yassuh. Nothin’ else but.” The Negro flashed yellowed teeth at him as he stepped down into the rocking boat.
“I betcha catch mo’ fish with that outfit than a man can get goin’ out on one of them doggone fancy fishin’ boats,” Shayne said cheerfully.
The Negro chuckled. “Yassuh, boss. I kin fo’ a fac’. White fo’ks messes up dey fishin’ wid too much fancy trappin’s.”
“I’d give fifty dollahs to be in yo’ shoes right now,” Shayne said wishfully. “Ain’t had me no decent fishin’ since I left Geo’gia wheah a man can lay on his back an’ jerk out catfish when he’s a mind to pull ’em in.”
“Lawsy, man, you could sho’ nuff be in mah shoes fo’ less’n fifty dollahs.” The old Negro’s mouth spread in a happy smile. “This yere ol’ boat an’ all mah truck ain’ wuth mo’n fo’ty.”
Shayne flexed his arms and yawned drowsily in the bright sunlight. “Wouldn’t be any fun fishin’ that way,” he complained. “Couldn’t get down an’ waller in it like if I had on overalls. An’ the sun’d get me fishin’ on the bay without no hat.”
An eager glint came into the Negro’s eyes. He rolled them at Shayne and said, “Rich mens come down heah and th’ow good money away with fancy trappin’s. This heah ol’ hat makes a moughty good shade fer sittin’ in the bay till they stahts bitin’. An’ I got me on some breeches under these overhalls. I th’ows ’em in wid de boat fer fo’ty dollahs.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Shayne said. He reached for the hat which the Negro held out, tried it on over his bristly red hair. It was a size small, but the brim turned down to conceal his features effectively.