"Wouldn't mind a soft snap."
"Fishing, for example?"
"Fishing what?"
"Herring,—know anything about them?"
"Not much."
"Know anything about blacksmithing?"
"No."
"Can't make keys,—false keys, nasty, low, picking keys?"
"No, I can't," said H. Robinson, sulkily, and advancing to the table he seized his hat, and began a retreat toward the open hall door, through which a southern breeze was peacefully stealing.
Captain White followed close behind him. "Ever coming here again?"