Percy's eye dwelt on the knives and aprons of his three associates.

"I'm glad I don't have to fish for a living," he said.

VII

SHORTS AND COUNTERS

Percy slept soundly that night. To be sure, the alarm routed out the
Spurlingites at the unseemly hour of four, but that was far better than
twelve. After breakfast he enjoyed a cigarette on the beach while the
others were helping Filippo clear away. It was a calm, beautiful
morning, and as young Whittington gazed over the smooth, blue sea he
felt that even a fisherman's life might have its redeeming features.

At six they all started to make the round of the lobster-traps, on the
_Barracouta_. The first string of white buoys, striped with green, was
encountered off Brimstone Point.

"Here's where we make a killing," said Jim.

As he approached the first buoy he opened his switch, stopping the
engine. Putting on his woolen mittens, he picked up the gaff. Close
under the starboard quarter bobbed the brown bottle that served as a
toggle. Reaching out with his gaff, he hooked this aboard, and began
hauling in the warp. At last the heavily weighted trap started off
bottom and began to ascend. In a half-minute its end, draped with marine
growths, broke the surface.

Holding the trap against the side, Jim tore off its incumbrances. The
trailing mass was composed principally of irregular, brownish-black,
leathery sheets at the end of long stems.

"Kelp!" answered Jim to Percy's inquiry. "Devil's aprons! They grow on
rocky bottom. I've seen a trap so loaded with 'em that you could hardly
stir it."

He dragged the lath coop up on the side. It contained a miscellaneous
assortment, the most interesting objects in which were four or five
black, scorpion-like shell-fish clinging to the netted heads and
sprawling on the bottom. Unbuttoning the door at the top, Jim darted in
his hand and seized one of these by its back. Round came the claws, wide
open, and snapped shut close to his fingers; but he had grasped his
prize at the one spot where the brandishing pincers could not reach him.

"He's a 'counter,' fast enough! No need of measuring him! Must weigh at
least two pounds."

Jim dropped the snapping shell-fish into a tub in the standing-room.

"I thought lobsters were red," remarked Percy.

"They are--after you boil 'em."

Spurling's hand went into the trap again. This time the result was not
so satisfactory. Out came a little fellow, full of fight. Jim te