"Get along with you!" said the boy, accompanying his words with a
gesture. "Are you a shoemaker? or a tailor? Say?"

"I?" asked Tchelkache; then after a moment's reflection, he added:

"I'm a fisherman."

"A fisherman? Really! What do you catch, fish?"

"Why should I catch fish? Around here the fishermen catch other things
besides that. Very often drowned men, old anchors, sunken
boats--everything, in fact! There are lines for that. . ."

"Invent, keep on inventing! Perhaps you're one of those fishermen who
sing about themselves:

"We are those who throw our nets
Upon dry banks,
Upon barns and stables!"

"Have you ever seen any of that kind?" asked Tchelkache, looking
ironically at him, and thinking that this honest boy must be very
stupid.

"No, I've never seen any; but I've heard them spoken of."

"Do you like them?"

"Why not? They are fearless and free."