Now I've got eleven dollars, and there are three
holidays of perfect weather before us: to-day, to-morrow, and
Monday. What will we do? What must we do to be saved? Our
matrimonial objects don't materialize till Monday night. In the
meanwhile, what? Shall we go down to Chinatown--to the restaurant,
or to the water-front again? Maybe the mate on the whaleback would
invite us to lunch. Or," added Condy, his eye caught by a fresh-
fish peddler who had just turned into the street, "we can go
fishing."
"For oysters, perhaps."
But the idea had caught Condy's fancy.
"Blix!" he exclaimed, "let's go fishing."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Where DO people fish around here? Where there's
water, I presume."
"No, is it possible?" she asked with deep concern. "I thought
they fished in their back yards, or in their front parlors
perhaps."
"Oh, you be quiet! you're all the time guying me," he answered.
"Let me think--let me think," he went on, frowning heavily,
scouring at his hair. Suddenly he slapped a thigh.
"Come on," he cried, "I've an idea!" He was already half-way down
the steps, when Blix called him back.
"Leave it all to me," he assured her; "trust me IMPLICITLY. Don't
you want to go?" he demanded with abrupt disappointment.
"Want to!" she exclaimed. "Why, it would be the very best kind of
fun, but--"
"Well, then, come along."
They took a downtown car.
"I've got a couple of split bamboo rods," he explained as the car
slid down the terrific grade of the Washington-Street hill.
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