80 ALBACORA 



dinner jacket. The man in oilskins loomed impressively, 

 like a sleek seal pausing among penguins. Water from 

 his oilskins was spotting the blue carpet. 



"Sounds great," Lou said. "Come on, Genie. Get 

 down off the piano and get a move on." 



I was amazed. "But the party's in full swing," I said, 

 "and I haven't finished my song." 



"Come on," Lou insisted, "let's get going." 



"If you think I'm going to go fishing at twelve o'clock 

 on a Saturday night, Lou Marron, you can start think- 

 ing all over again." 



"Okay, Genie," Lou said. "Take care of yourself 

 and don't worry. I'll probably be back before morning." 

 Lou turned away. "Now Clint," he began, "you got the 

 boat all gassed up?" The two men started quickly for 

 the door. 



"Wait," I screamed. "I'll finish singing on the ocean. 

 Wait for me." 



"We ought to get to the tuna at two-thirty, if we 

 start right off," Clint was saying as the two men walked 

 out of the party, with me just one step behind. 



"But what about my clothes," I shouted. "And yours, 

 Lou? We'll have to take time to change." 



Clint Thorne looked at me sternly. "We don't have 

 much time to waste," he said. 



"That's right," Lou said. "You can change on the 

 boat." 



I started to protest again, but a rush of wind carried 



