"Why my child," he said, "in the supposititious case which I put, they were interesting as having fish, while we had none. But in the reality—they were picturesque in the distance,—what they are near by we will see," he added with a smile at her, as the sail came round and the little boat shot up alongside of her rough-looking relation. "Well friends, what cheer?—besides a May morning and a fair wind?"
The fishermen slowly dragging their net, hoarsely speculating on its probable weight of fish, paused both their oars and tongues and looked at him. One of the men had the oars; the other at the end of the boat was hauling in, hand over hand.
"That's about all the cheer you want, I guess,—aint it?" said this man. It was said freely enough, but with no incivility.
"Not all I want," said Mr. Linden,—while the oarsman, rolling his tobacco in his mouth, came out with—
"Shouldn't wonder, now, if 'twan't much in your line o' business!—guess likely you be one o' the mighty smart folks that don't do nothin'."
"I've no objection to being 'mighty smart'," said Mr. Linden, belaying his rope with a light hand, "but I shouldn't like to pay such a price for it. Smartness will have to come down before I'm a purchaser."
The man looked at him with a queer little gleam crossing his face—
"Shouldn't wonder if you hadn't took it when it was down!" he said.
"It's a great thing to know the state of the market," said Mr. Linden.
"I suppose you find that with your fish."
"Gen'lly do, when we take 'em,"—said the man at the net, who never took his eye off the overhauling boat and its crew. He was not a young man, but a jovial-looking fellow. "What fish be you arter, stranger?"