As usual, Sunday and Demetrios Contos arrived together. It had
become the regular thing for the fishermen to assemble on Steamboat
Wharf to greet his arrival and to laugh at our discomfiture. He
lowered sail a couple of hundred yards out and set his customary
fifty feet of rotten net.

"I suppose this nonsense will keep up as long as his old net holds
out," Charley grumbled, with intention, in the hearing of several
of the Greeks.

"Den I give-a heem my old-a net-a," one of them spoke up, promptly
and maliciously,

"I don't care," Charley answered. "I've got some old net myself he
can have--if he'll come around and ask for it."

They all laughed at this, for they could afford to be sweet-
tempered with a man so badly outwitted as Charley was.

"Well, so long, lad," Charley called to me a moment later. "I
think I'll go up-town to Maloney's."

"Let me take the boat out?" I asked.

"If you want to," was his answer, as he turned on his heel and
walked slowly away.

Demetrios pulled two large salmon out of his net, and I jumped into
the boat. The fishermen crowded around in a spirit of fun, and
when I started to get up sail overwhelmed me with all sorts of