FISHING IN A FLOWER BED 



and, best of all, the ice box packed to the limit. 

 The wanderer in warm climates learns to do 

 without ice and soon begins to boast that he 

 cares nothing for it, but the sight of its smoking 

 coolness pricks the bubble of his pretensions and 

 he admits that it is like nectar to a mortal or 

 caviar to the particular. 



"Joe has got everything fixed," said the cap- 

 tain. "We can leave here any minute. We will 

 be at Marco Pass by daylight if you say so." 



"I don't like keeping you on the job all 

 night." 



"I don't mind that. I like to sail at night. 

 You're sure of a steady breeze and no squalls to 

 bother." 



"All right, Captain, go ahead. You take us 

 down the river and from Sanibel Light to Marco 

 Pass the Camera-man and I will take care of 

 the wheel." 



We sat on the little deck watching the stars, 

 the shadowy outlines of the river banks, and the 

 trees silhouetted against the sky, while the cap- 

 tain with a pilot's instinct threaded the channel, 

 avoiding every sand bar and turning from each 

 oyster reef until Punta Rassa was passed and 



119 



