The man spit into the water and then glanced at our boxes.
“Jerry!” he called. “Want any more fish?”
“What kind of fish?” a voice replied from back in the shed.
The man squinted again at our catch.
“Looks like succotash to me,” he called.
Jerry came out and stared down at us, and then slowly descended the ladder to the boat. He had a mean face, Tish says, and he made us about as welcome as the bubonic plague. He said nothing, but picked out six haddock and handed them up to the man above.
“Thirty cents,” he said.
“I’m paying sixty in the market,” Tish protested.
“Thirty-five,” he repeated, and started up the ladder.
“Forty,” said Tish firmly.