“No. That’s the trouble. Been trying for more than an hour. Pop, he runs a tourist camp. Turkey and I catch the bait. It’s tough sometimes.”
“Over across the point,” Florence replied quickly, “there are millions. I saw them half an hour ago. Water’s black with them.”
“Morton’s Bay.” Tillie’s face lighted. “Turkey, we got to go there. It’s quite a row, but that’s the only place.”
“Why don’t you bring the net across the point?” Florence asked. “Let your brother take the boat around. I’ll slip on my bathing suit and help you.”
“Would you?” Tillie smiled gratefully.
“I’d love to. Must be a lot of fun. All those minnows tickling your toes.”
“Might be fun for some,” said Tillie doubtfully.
“Turkey,” she commanded, “you bring the boat around.”
“Why do you call him Turkey?” Florence asked when they were in the forest.
“Turkey Trot. That’s his nickname. Boys called him that because they said he ran like a turkey. He don’t mind. Up here everybody’s got a nickname.”