"Wa'al, miss, I don't lay no special claims to virtue," he protested.
"But if you don't sell tinny crabs—ugh, how funny that sounds—then you must be honest!" Amy insisted. "I'm so glad to know you. Tell me, is there any pirate's treasure buried around here?"
Old Tin-Back looked at her, startled. Then he edged away slightly.
"Exactly," laughingly said Amy afterward, "as though I had announced that I was a militant suffragist, and intended burning his boats."
"Pirate's treasure, miss?" repeated the old lobsterman. "I—er—I never found any."
"But Mr. Nelson said there might be some."
"Oh, there might—yes. And I might find a dead whale with a lump of ambergris in him, as big as a barrel," spoke Tin-Back, "but I never have."
"What's ambergris?" asked Amy, who rather enjoyed his talk.
"I don't rightly know, miss, but it's something like a lump of suet in a dead whale, and it's worth its weight in gold. It makes perfume!"
"The idea," murmured Amy, with a little shudder. "I don't believe I shall like perfume after that."