ALBACORA 189 



"He's unconscious," Lou said, in alarm. 



"He's sleeping," I said. "He'll take off in the morn- 

 ing and start stuffing himself again. I know panhan- 

 dlers." 



But I did not know Charlie. In the morning, he was 

 still perched on the chair, still twisted in the same odd 

 position we had seen the night before. 



"Dead," Lou pronounced, as soon as he spotted Char- 

 lie in the dawn. "I knew I should have called that sur- 

 geon." 



"Maybe he's asleep," I said. "It is pretty early." 



I poked Charlie sharply. I might have pressed a but- 

 ton or thrown a switch. The neck began unwinding like 

 a corkscrew and when it had finally straightened itself 

 out, Charlie looked at me blearily. 



"He's got a hangover," Walt Gorman said. "Better 

 check the liquor stock, Lou." 



"Lay off the house guests," Lou grumbled. "This 

 bird is going to bring us luck today." 



"The way he did yesterday," I said. "He brought 

 luck to marlin and to Bosco, but not us." 



"He's not an albatross," Lou said. "He can't bring 

 luck every time. Yesterday he was off stride, but now 

 he's ready to come through." We were to leave Iquique 

 the next day, and while the expedition and our search 

 for Bosco were still to reach a climax, there would be 

 no more fishing among guani birds. Charlie had very 

 little time left to redeem himself. 



In the morning, I missed three opportunities to bait 



