“That’s all right, Sam,” said Crail untroubledly. “You don’t have to sing when you bring them in. Just do it unostentatiously.”
“Can’t be did, sir. I’d like to oblige you, but——”
“I know you would,” interrupted Crail earnestly. “I just feel it, Sam. Say no more about it, but get busy. And put them right here when you bring them. Try for the plump ones, Sam. These look sort of—sort of emaciated.”
“You won’t get them,” laughed Dud. “The steward would take them away from him.”
“I’ll get them all right,” was the reply. “Say, fellows, they sure are good! I used to think I’d like to live by the ocean and raise my own oysters. A fellow could, eh?”
“Where do they find oysters?” inquired Jimmy. “In the ocean or rivers or where?”
“Both,” said Dud. “They sow the young oysters and——”
“Sow them!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Oh, sure! Just like wheat or oats, I suppose. Where do you get that stuff?”
“They do, don’t they, Creel?”