Harvey hauled in his fish, rebaited, and threw over.
“Killed him! Course, when I heard that I was keener’n ever to get it.”
“Christmas! I didn’t know it,” said Harvey, turning round. “I’ll give you a dollar for it when I—get my wages. Say, I’ll give you two dollars.”
“Honest? D’you like it as much as all that?” said Dan, flushing. “Well, to tell the truth, I kinder got it for you—to give; but I didn’t let on till I saw how you’d take it. It’s yours and welcome, Harve, because we’re dory-mates, and so on and so forth, an’ so followin’. Catch a-holt!”
He held it out, belt and all.
“But look at here. Dan, I don’t see—”
“Take it. ’Tain’t no use to me. I wish you to hev it.”
The temptation was irresistible.
“Dan, you’re a white man,” said Harvey. “I’ll keep it as long as I live.”
“That’s good hearin’,” said Dan, with a pleasant laugh; and then, anxious to change the subject:
“ ’Look’s if your line was fast to somethin’.”
“Fouled, I guess,” said Harve, tugging. Before he pulled up he fastened the belt round him, and with deep delight heard the tip of the sheath click on the thwart. “Concern the thing!” he cried. “She acts as though she were on strawberry-bottom. It’s all sand here, ain’t it?”
Dan reached over and gave a judgmatic tweak.
“Hollbut’ll act that way ’f he’s sulky. Thet’s no strawberry-bottom. Yank her once or twice. She gives, sure. Guess we’d better haul up an’ make certain.”