Ford made no answer, but looked on very seriously while Dab skilfully slit up a tough old Dutch clam into bait.  It was beginning to dawn upon him that he could teach the “’long-shore boys,” whether black or white, very little about fishing.  He even allowed Dab to pick out a line for him, and to put on the hook and sinker; and Dick Lee showed him how to fix his bait, “so de fust cunner dat rubs agin it won’t knock it off.  Dem’s awful mean fish.  Good for nuffin but ’teal bait.”

A merry party they were; and the salt water was rapidly drying from the garments of the colored oars-man, as he pulled strongly and skilfully out into the bay, and around toward a deep cove at the north of the inlet mouth.

Then, indeed, for the first time in his life, Ford Foster learned what it was to catch fish.

Not but what he had spent many an hour, and even day, on and about other waters, with a rod or a line in his hand; but he had never before had two such born fishermen at his elbow to take him to the right place precisely, and at the right time, and then to show him what to do when he got there.

It was fun enough; for the fish bit remarkably well, and some of those which came into the boat were of a very encouraging size and weight.

There was one curious thing about those heavier fish.

Ford would have given half the hooks and lines in his box, if he could have caught from Dick or Dab the mysterious “knack” they seemed to have of coaxing the biggest of the finny folk to their bait, and then over the side of the boat.

“There’s some kind of favoritism about it,” he remarked.

“Never mind, Ford,” replied Dab.  “Dick and I are better acquainted with them.  They’re always a little shy with strangers, at first.  They don’t really mean to be impolite.”

Favoritism it was, nevertheless; and there was now no danger but what Dick would be able to appease the mind of his mother without making any mention of the crabs.

At last, almost suddenly, and as if by common consent, the fish stopped biting, and the two “’long shore boys” began to put away their lines.

“Going to quit?” asked Ford.

“Time’s up, and the tide’s turned,” replied Dab.

“Not another bite, most likely, till late this evening.  We might as well pull up, and start for home.”

“That’s a curious kind of a habit for fish to have.”

“They’ve all got it though, ’round this bay.”

“Mus’ look out for wot’s lef’ ob de ole scow, on de way home,” remarked Dick a little solemnly.  “I’s boun’ to ketch it for dat good-for-noting ole board.”

“We’ll find it, and tow it in,” said Dab; “and perhaps we can get it mended.  Anyhow, you can go with us next week.  We’re going to make a cruise in Ham Morris’s yacht.  Will you go?”

“Will I go?  Yoop!” almost yelled the excited boy.  “Dat’s jest de one t’ing I’d like to jine.  Won’t we hab fun!  She’s jest de bes’ boat on dis hull bay.  You ain’t foolin’ me, is yer?”