184 ALBACORA 



the chilly Humboldt. No more plunging after slippery- 

 sardines. Charlie's days of labor were over. His ship, 

 the Explorer, had come in. 



It took only twenty minutes of feeding to make 

 Charlie sick. A pouch that began to bulge from his neck 

 was the first symptom. "Stuffed crop," Walt said. The 

 pouch expanded swiftly and Charlie suddenly sagged 

 toward the deck in an overstuffed heap. His head 

 drooped and beads of water oozed from his mouth. I 

 picked Charlie up and placed him in a sheltered spot 

 close to the cabin. A piece of bait was lying nearby. 

 Despite what might well be his final agony, Charlie 

 strained himself toward the bait. He was a born pan- 

 handler and he intended to die with his mouth full. 



Since Lou had fed Charlie more often than anyone 

 else, it was he who felt the sharpest pang of guilt. 

 "Damn it," he said. "I'm going to massage that neck. 

 We can't just let him lie there and die." 



"Didn't I tell you not to feed him so much," I said. 

 "But he probably won't die. Pass out maybe, but not 

 die." 



"Look," Lou said, "we better turn this ship around 

 and head for port. I'll call Dr. Lombardy, the surgeon. 

 He can meet us on the dock." 



"Why not try giving Charlie water first?" I said. 



"That's right," Lou said. "Get some water." 



Mario filled a pail and plunged Charlie's head deep 

 into it. The bird did not even try to swallow. When 



