The Weakfish 133 



and the doctor's happy frame of mind 

 goes on soaring higher and higher with 

 every revealment. He sees the clean 

 beds, made of rough pine wood and built 

 against the wall one above the other like 

 the berths of a steamship; the little 

 shelves and cupboards in all the glory of 

 their charges tin tobacco boxes filled 

 with every sort of spice and cooking con- 

 diment, and the hundred other homely 

 but inviting articles stored here and there. 

 Four square holes, one at each quarter of 

 the dwelling, let in cool sea air on hot 

 summer days, and stout wooden blinds 

 protect these openings during storms. 



The doctor and I talk a long time as 

 we sit about the cosy fire, more than 

 once filling the tiny room with tobacco 

 smoke so that we are obliged to open the 

 door and fan the place with our coats. 



I tell the old man all I know about the 

 fishing and the natural history of the 

 great lagoon, and he is a willing audience. 



"The baymen, Doctor, say the Great 



