THE GIRL'S DAT 



ing had not a pompano-filled larder raised a 

 standard of unnatural excellence. Joe, "the cook 

 and the captain bold" of the little motor boat, 

 salted and dried a few pounds of the tarpon and 

 thereafter on Sunday mornings awakened mem- 

 ories of New England by giving us genuine cod- 

 fish balls. 



"I suppose you know it is my birthday," said 

 the Girl just after dinner. 



"We knew it, all right," replied the Camera- 

 man, "but we were delicate about mentioning it." 



"Of course, it is your day," said I. "You have 

 done pretty well with the first half of it. What 

 shall be done with the afternoon?" 



"That tarpon this morning Bless him for let- 

 ting herself be caught ! made every bone in my 

 body ache and now I want to sit all the afternoon 

 on a soft cushion in a dry canoe without any fish- 

 ing tackle and be paddled up to Boca Grande." 



It was the Girl's day, as perfect as the pre- 

 vious one, and we paddled up the coast as before, 

 but as we neared the Big Pass black clouds were 

 piling up in the eastern sky. The tide had 

 turned out and we paddled hard, keeping close 

 to the beach, to reach the harbor before the storm 



85 



