you know that I have found my fisherman's hut?" 

 "Hum," was the only response. 

 "Yes, and it's the quaintest, most delightful spot imaginable. Philip, do come with me and see it." 

 "Hum." 

 "Oh, Philip, you are so lazy; do come with me." 

 "Yes, but, my dear Annette," protested Philip, "this is a warm day, and I am tired." 

 Still, his curiosity being aroused, he went grumbling. It was not a very long drive, back from the beach across the railroad and through the pine forest to the bank of a dark, slow-flowing bayou. The fisherman's hut was small, two-roomed, whitewashed, pine-boarded, with the traditional mud chimney acting as a sort of support to one of its uneven sides. Within was a weird assortment of curios from every uncivilized part of the globe. Also were there fishing-tackle and guns in reckless profusion. The fisherman, in the kitchen of the mud-chimney, was sardonically waging war with a basket of little bayou crabs. 

 "Entrez, mademoiselle et monsieur," he said pleasantly, grabbing a vicious crab by its flippers, and smiling at its wild attempts to bite. "You see I am busy, but make yourself at home." 

 "Well, how on earth—" began Philip. 

 "Sh—sh—" whispered Annette.  "I was driving out in the woods this morning, and stumbled on the hut. He asked me in, but I came right over after you." 

 The fisherman, having succeeded in getting the last crab in the kettle of boiling water, came forward smiling and began to explain the curios. 

 "Then you have not always lived at Pass Christian," said Philip. 

 "Mais non, monsieur, I am spending a summer here." 

 "And he spends his winters, doubtless, selling fish in the French market," spitefully soliloquised Philip. 

 The fisherman was looking unutterable things into Annette's eyes, and, it seemed to Philip, taking an unconscionably long time explaining the use of an East Indian stiletto. 

 Prev. P 15/65 next