252 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



"What's that name you called the boat?" 



"A sharpie. What do you call it?" 



"I call it a skiff, and it is a skiff; sharpie is some of 

 your New York language, I suppose; did you ever hear 

 of a skiff?" 



"Yes, and they are two different boats in the New 

 York language, but we won't fight about that. I want 

 to go fishing to-morrow, and if you want to try the new 

 shar skiff, I mean, just fill her full of water to swell the 

 seams and get her on the wagon in the morning; that's 

 all." 



Frank called attention to the fact that there was room 

 for three, and intimated that he would go if his company 

 was earnestly desired. 



"Frank," replied his brother, "you know that you're 

 the durn'dest fool in a boat that lives in Wisconsin. Last 

 year you upset us when we were coming down Swift 

 Sloo by grabbing a branch to look after some wounded 

 bird, and we had to stop all night on the island and be 

 eaten by mosquitoes because Fred's rifle was in the bot- 

 tom of the sloo. We don't want any more of that funny 

 business, and you had better stay home." Then turning 

 to me, Henry explained: "Frank's all right to weigh out 

 sugar and coffee in a grocery, and he can figure up how 

 many papers of tacks would balance a pound of nails; but 

 you had a sample of him last year; he hasn't got good, 

 sound sense, like a mule, for a mule can take care of him- 

 self any time, and wouldn't dump us all in the drink to 

 look at a pelican. If you can stand him, all right; I 

 won't object." 



Then it was Frank's innings. He was the younger 

 but larger of the two, and he replied: "Henry is the 

 bright boy of the family, and very few families have more 

 than one bright boy, if they're so fortunate as to have 



