I cannot say that the fishing was what we had expected. There was plenty of fish, and Tish grew quite expert at opening clams and putting them on her hook. But as Aggie could never bear the smell of clams at any time, and as the rocking of the boat seriously disturbed her, we had rather a troublesome time with her. Once she even begged to be thrown overboard.
“Nonsense!” Tish said. “You can’t swim and you know it.”
“I don’t want to swim, Tish,” she said pitifully “I just want to die, and the quicker the better.”
On rough days, too, when an occasional wave dashed over us, and Tish would shake herself and speak of the bracing effect of salt water, our poor Aggie would fall into violent sneezing, and more than once lost a fish by so doing. And I shall never forget the day when she drew up a squid, and the wretched thing squirted its ink all over her. There was a certain dignity in the way she turned her blackened face to Tish.
“I have stood for clams, Tish,” she said, “and I have stood for the rocking of this d-damned boat. But when the very creatures of the deep insult me I’m through!”
As, however, a wave came overboard just then and removed practically all the ink, as well as the squid itself, she was fortunately unable to express herself further. It speaks well for our dear Tish’s self-control that she allowed Aggie’s speech to pass without reproof, and even offered her a small glass of blackberry cordial from the bottle we always carried with us.
But it was in the matter of payment for the fish that our plans suffered a serious reverse. We had on our first day out taken what we imagined was a hundred pounds of various sorts, many unknown to us, and on the way to the fish wharf, while Aggie and I neatly arranged them as to sizes, Tish figured out the probable value.
“About forty dollars,” she said. “And if they take that thing with whiskers under its chin, even more. Gasoline, one dollar. Christopher’s wages and boat hire per day, eight dollars. Clams, a dollar and a quarter. Leaving a net profit of twenty-nine dollars and seventy-five cents, or clear every month eight hundred and seventy dollars and fifty cents.”
She closed her notebook and we drew in under the fish wharf, where a man who was chewing tobacco came to the edge and looked down at us.
“We are selling these fish,” Tish said with her usual dignity. “They are quite fresh, and ought to bring the best market rates.”