"A fellow that'd starve here just deserves to, that's all," said Dab. "Ford, there's Bill Lee's boat and three others coming in. We're all right. One of 'em's a dredger."
Ford and Frank could only guess what their friend was up to, but Dab was not doing any guessing.
"Bill," he exclaimed, as Dick's father pulled within hearing,—"Bill, put a lot of your best pan-fish in this basket and then go and fetch us some lobsters. There's half a dozen in your pot. Did those others get any luck?"
"More clams 'n 'ysters," responded Bill.
"Then we'll take both lots."
The respect of the city boys for the resources of the Long Island shore began to rise rapidly a few minutes later, for not only was one of Dab's baskets promptly provided with "pan-fish," such as porgies, black fish and perch, but two others received all the clams and oysters they were at all anxious to carry to the house. At the same time, Bill Lee offered, as an amendment to the lobster question,
"Ye 'r' wrong about the pot, Dab."
"Wrong? Why—"
"Yes, you's wrong. Glorianny's been an' b'iled every one on 'em an' they 're all nice an' cold by this time."
"All right. I never eat my lobsters raw. Just you go and get them, Dick. Bring 'em right over to Ford's house."