It was getting late in the afternoon, and it was a long way to John’s smoke-house, where the unsold portion of the stock must be “dressed an’ put in pickle,” preparatory to smoking it.
We returned by the same route as we came. The poor old woman was “waitin’ at the gate,” and turned sadly toward the house as we passed. She carried her cross in silence, and the picture was pathetic.
On the way back we saw a sharp-featured man with red hair, who had come out of a house and was waiting near the road.
“That feller,” declared John, as we approached the possible purchaser, “gives me pains. He seen me goin’ by all right this mornin’, but ’e didn’t come out. He’s a tight wad, an’ ’e thinks I’ll sell ’im fish fer almost nothin’ before I’ll tote ’em back. I’ve got ’em all trained but ’im. Now you just watch me.”
When we stopped the man asked if we had “any cheap bargains in fresh fish.”
“Yes,” said John, “I have, an’ I’ll tell ye what I’ll do. I hain’t sold many to-day, an’ I’ve got about twenty left. If you’ll take the whole bunch, you can have ’em fer a dollar an’ a half.”
“I can use two of ’em, at ten cents apiece, if you’ll let me pick ’em out,” the man replied.
“Giddap!” said John, and we were once more on our way.
Pride is the most expensive thing in the world, and under various forms it dominates mankind. I could not help but admire John’s resolute sacrifice of this opportunity to add twenty cents in “cash-money” to the greasy pouch, which sorely needed it, but evidently he was following a policy that had in it much wisdom.
After crossing the marshy strip, we went through the sand hills, and down the beach to Sipes’s place, where I had left my boat.
We found him peacefully smoking out in front of his shanty, apparently without a care in the world.
John showed Sipes the fish he had brought back, and gave him the things he had bought for him at the store. When the account was all figured out, there was a balance of twelve cents in John’s favor, which Sipes said “we’ll make up next time.” He was deeply disappointed that there was no “cash-money” coming.
Sipes considered the fish that were to go to the smoke-house “a dead loss, an’ they’d soon be worse’n that.” He wanted “nothin’ to do with ’em after they struck the morgue.” He looked upon the smoke-house as a sink of iniquity, from which nothing good could possibly emanate.