"No, indeed. You've given me half I've got, as it is. Annie, have you looked at the crabs? You ought to have seen Dick Lee with a lot of 'em gripping in his hair."
"In his hair?"
"When he was down through the bottom of his boat. They'd have eaten him up if they'd had a chance. You see he's no shell on him."
"Exactly," said Annie, as Dab lowered his fish. "Well, Dabney, I wish you would thank your mother for sending my trunk over. Your sisters, too. I've no doubt we shall be very neighborly."
It was wonderfully pleasant to be called by his first name, and yet it seemed to bring something into Dabney Kinzer's throat.
"She considers me a boy, and she means I'd better take my fish home," was the thought which came to him, and he was right to a fraction. So the great lump in his throat took a very wayward and boyish form, and came out as a reply, accompanied by a low bow.
"I will, thank you. Good afternoon, Mrs. Foster. I'll see you to-night, Ford, about Monday and the yacht. Good afternoon, Annie."
And then he marched out with his fish.
"Mother, did you hear him call me 'Annie?'"
"Yes; and I heard you call him 'Dabney.'"