“On a shoal, little way out.” Don hadn’t meant to tell that. He hadn’t liked the sound of that whistle. He spoke before he thought.
“You’d better watch out,” said the other boy. Then without allowing time for further remarks, “All set? Hop in then. I got to go ashore. The gang will be looking for me.”
As the young stranger rowed the two girls and Don ashore, Don wondered over his strange warning.
“You better look out!” What could he have meant? He wanted to ask. Natural reserve held him back.
Only once during the short journey was the silence broken. They were passing a boat covered with canvas and sunk to the gunwale.
“What’s that for?” Don asked.
“Lobster pond. Keep lobsters there.”
“Why do they keep them?”
“There are a hundred or more of us summer folks out here,” the other boy explained. “We like a lobster salad now and then. They keep them for us. Mighty decent of them to bother. A fine lot, these fishermen. Real sports.”
Don thought it strange that lobsters should be kept when there was a steady market for them and they were to be caught out here with comparative ease. However, he asked no further questions.