Barry sprang on the slimy stone steps leading up to the wharf, tied his boat up, looked irritably over his shoulder at the deaf old caretaker, who was shouting his name and a greeting to him, then went quickly up to the little cabin near the big fish market.
It was not quite dark yet; he would not go up to the city until it was.
The present caretaker and ex-fisherman followed him into the cabin.
“What’s your hurry? You spun by me like a flying fish.”
“I want to sit down; I’m tired,” said Barry, flinging his cap on the table.
“Did ye row standin’?” roared the old man.
“No, I didn’t,” observed Barry, mildly.
“What’s the news on the island?” inquired the old fisherman, sitting down before his guest.
“What kind of news would I be likely to have but cat news?” inquired Barry, sarcastically.
“Well, give us your cat news. I see the Mayor’s steam launch goin’ out to yer island yesterday. Was he wantin’ cats fer his lady?”