THE FELLOW:  Oh, yes—­quite common.  I suppose, of course, you heard the cat-fish having a concert last night.

THE GIRL:  No—­surely you are joking.

THE FELLOW:  No, indeed—­they were all tom-cats.

THE GIRL:  Who ever heard of such a thing?

THE FELLOW:  Well, you’ve heard of tom-cods, haven’t you?

THE GIRL:  Yes, of course, but—­

THE FELLOW:  Well, why not tom-cats then?  Say, you must be sure to come over to our camp and see the collection in our private aquarium.  We have two compartments, and keep the little daughter fish on one side, and—­

THE GIRL:  The daughter fish!

THE FELLOW:  (Nodding his head.) Yes, and the son-fish on the other. (THE GIRL springs to her feet, angrily.)

THE GIRL:  You are simply guying me.  I shan’t listen to you another moment.  Give me my glove, sir, I demand it.

THE FELLOW:  (Also jumping to his feet and grasping her by the arm.) Oh, please don’t get mad.  We were getting along so nicely, too.

THE GIRL:  (Sneeringly.) “WE” were getting along so nicely.  You mean YOU were.  I wasn’t.

THE FELLOW:  Yes, you were doing FINE.  You were listening to me, and I can get along all right with anybody that will listen to me.  Besides—­ah-ah—­fraulein—­mam’selle—­you know, I don’t know your name—­besides I—­I—­I like you.  I—­I think you’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever seen.

THE GIRL:  (Turning her head away, and releasing her arm from his grasp.) Oh, pshaw!  You’ve said that to a hundred girls.

THE FELLOW:  No—­believe me, I have not.  YOU’VE made a mighty big hit with me.  I’m hard hit this time.  I—­

THE GIRL:  (Laughing in spite of herself.) Oh, you foolish boy.  How can you expect me to believe you?  I’ll bet anything that your coat pockets are filled with love letters from other girls this very minute.

THE FELLOW:  You are wrong.  You are unjust.  Clementina, you are—­

THE GIRL:  (Indignant again.) Clementina!  How dare you address me by such a ridiculous—­

THE FELLOW:  Oh, pardon me.  I thought Clementina was quite poetic.  Besides, I’ve got to call you something.  You do me a terrible injustice.  On my word of honor—­as a—­as a fisherman—­I haven’t a love letter in my coat pocket—­or anywhere else.  I am young, innocent, virtuous and—­

THE GIRL:  (Bursting into laughter again.) And utterly foolish, I should judge.  You are afraid to let me search your pockets.

THE FELLOW:  Afraid?  Who’s afraid?  Me afraid!  Well, I’d be tickled to death to have you search my pockets.  I dare you to search my pockets.  I dare you—­understand? (He faces her and throws up his hands over his head.)

THE GIRL:  You dare me, do you?  Well, I just won’t take a dare.  I’ll do it.

THE FELLOW:  Go ahead and do it.  I repeat, I dare you!  If you doubt my word, prove to your satisfaction that I never lie.  I dare you!