“Nothing like pipe-smoke while fishing!” he say for smiles.
“I notice,” is feebly voice from me.
Pretty soon Hon. Boss make electric movement with wet string. He bite pipe more cruelly while halling in one enraged cod who mock him with angry mouth.
“A beautiful fish!” he yellup joyly. “All see it!”
All those sicknesses report “Um” with unhappy nose.
“Are he not beautiful fish?” he ask it to me.
“Perhapsly when younger,” I disengage while holding my head on.
Of suddenly Hon. Mrs. Liddbeater arise upwards from pillows like a fried snake.
“For sake of your children,” repeat her, “I ask you to cease making clams and people and Japs and fish miserable for selfish joy of your depravity. Put us somewheres where we can run away.”
“Fishing cannot be accomplished by running away,” he deploy with Samurai expression. “I never depart off until I have caught 14.”