“Are you Andrew Fosdick?” Jack asked, as they reached the spot where the other stood, one hand resting on the edge of the boat, from which his comrades were already shoveling their catch of fish.
“That’s my name, though I generally answer to plain Andy,” replied the fisherman wondering doubtless what all this meant, and why these boys should want to see him.
“Bully!” exclaimed Nick. “Found him the first shot! We’re sure in great luck on this cruise, fellows!”
“Tell him what you want with him, Jack,” urged Herb, who saw the other was being consumed with anxiety.
“We have come straight from your father, Andy,” said Jack, softly. “He wants you to come home to him.”
Then they saw a hard look pass over the dark face of Andy Fosdick.
“It ain’t no use, boys,” he said, bitterly. “He run me off long ago, and I don’t go back there again. I’m gettin’ to forget my name even is Fosdick, and that settles it.”