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.
"Oh, wouldn't it be delightful!" came from Annette at last.
"What?" asked Philip.
"Why, Monsieur LeConte says he'll take six of us out in his
catboat tomorrow for a fishing-trip on the Gulf."
"Hum," drily.
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