The crabber approached on the leg of his journey closest to the boat. On impulse, Rick called, "Come aboard and have some coffee?"
The man grinned. Without missing his smooth swing at a rising crab, he called back, "Don't mind. That coffee smell was drivin' me nigh crazy. Be back when I finish this line."
Rick leaned into the cabin. "Company for coffee, Scotty."
"Heard you. Got another cup all ready. In here or out there?"
"Out here. It's too nice to be inside."
In a few moments the motorboat, which turned out to be as long as the houseboat, came alongside. Rick took the line thrown by the crabber and made it fast so that the crab boat would drift astern. He looked into the boat with interest. Covers on four baskets showed that the crabber had collected four bushels of crabs. A fifth and sixth basket were half full, one with very large crabs, the other with smaller ones.
The crabber swung aboard. He was of medium height, with light-blue eyes set in a tanned and weather-beaten face. Rick guessed his age to be somewhere in the mid-forties. He smiled, showing even teeth that were glaringly white in his tanned face.
"Name's Orvil Harris," he announced.
"Rick Brant." Rick shook hands. "That's Don Scott coming out with the coffee."
Scotty put down the coffeepot and mugs he was carrying and shook hands. "Call me Scotty, Mr. Harris. How do you like your coffee?"