“Ho, ho! That's the stuff! But who's SHE, Is? When are you going to marry her?”
Issy grunted spitefully. “You ain't married yourself—not yit,” he observed, with concealed sarcasm.
The unsuspecting Bartlett laughed in triumph. “No,” he said. “I'm not, that's a fact; but maybe I'm going to be some of these days. It looked pretty dubious for a while, but now it's all right.”
“'Tis, hey? You're sure about that, be you?”
“Guess I am. Great Scott! what's that? Fog?”
A damp breath blew across the boat. The clouds covered the sky overhead and the bay to port. The fog was pouring like smoke across the water.
“Fog, by thunder!” exclaimed Bartlett.
Issy smiled. “Hum! Yes, 'tis fog, ain't it?” he observed.
“But what'll we do? It'll be here in a minute, won't it?”
“Shouldn't be a mite surprised. Looks 's if twas here now.”