"Massa Chas, Massa Chas," he exclaimed, at last, "dar ain't no use ob you white chillens trying to catch no fish."
"Why, Chris?" questioned the larger lad.
"'Cause dey's done cotched dem all. Dar can't be many left, Massa Chas."
"Nonsense, Chris, there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it."
"Maybe so," said the little negro, doubtfully, "but I reckon dar ain't so many ob dem."
"You can not prove there isn't," laughed Charley.
"May be not," said the little negro, with dignity, "but you-alls had ought to take a cullard gentleman's word widout any proof."
"So I will, Chris," agreed the white lad, with a twinkle in his eye, "but there is Mr. Daniels beckoning to us. Let's see what he has to say."
"Take a chair and I will talk with you, now," said Mr. Daniels as they re-entered the office. "Now, first, I would like to know what has given you and your friends this fishing idea. Fishermen are a pretty rough class as a rule and you all seem fitted for a better class of work. Tell me something about yourselves, please."
"There isn't much to tell, sir," said the boy spokesman, modestly. "We four have been comrades for several years and we hate to separate now. We were sponge fishing out of Tarpon Springs but we lost our schooner through trouble with our crew. We saved only the clothes on our backs. We have to get something to do right off. Fishing seems to be the only thing in this part of the state that we would be able to work at and keep together. We heard of you, sir, in Tarpon Springs. We arrived here at Clearwater this morning. In fact, we came here direct from the station."