tty."

"Heard you. Got another cup all ready. In here or out there?"

"Out here. It's too nice to be inside."

In a few moments the motorboat, which turned out to be as long as the
houseboat, came alongside. Rick took the line thrown by the crabber and
made it fast so that the crab boat would drift astern. He looked into
the boat with interest. Covers on four baskets showed that the crabber
had collected four bushels of crabs. A fifth and sixth basket were half
full, one with very large crabs, the other with smaller ones.

The crabber swung aboard. He was of medium height, with light-blue eyes
set in a tanned and weather-beaten face. Rick guessed his age to be
somewhere in the mid-forties. He smiled, showing even teeth that were
glaringly white in his tanned face.

"Name's Orvil Harris," he announced.

"Rick Brant." Rick shook hands. "That's Don Scott coming out with the
coffee."

Scotty put down the coffeepot and mugs he was carrying and shook hands.
"Call me Scotty, Mr. Harris. How do you like your coffee?"

"Strong and often," Harris replied. "Plain black. Call me Orvil."

Like all visitors, Harris was interested in the houseboat. "Been hopin'
for a look inside," he said in his slurred Eastern Shore accent. "Almost
gave up hope. You get up late, seems like."

Rick glanced at the sun. "Must be all of seven o'clock. You call that
late?"

"Been here since four. It's late for me."

Rick showed Orvil Harris through the boat, then sat with him and Scotty
in the cockpit, sipping steaming coffee. The crabber talked willingly
about his business.

"Not much profit," he reported, "but it beats workin'."

After hearing about a crabber's life, rising in the middle of the night,
rain or shine, working crab lines and hauling baskets around until noon,
Rick wondered what Harris would consider hard work. Having spent a
dollar for six steamed crabs a few nights before, he was also amazed to
hear the crabber report that he received only six dollars a bushel for
"jumbo" crabs and three dollars a bushel for "culls," or medium ones.
All under four and a half inches from tip to tip were thrown back.

Rick waited a courteous length of time before asking the question that
had been on his mind since hearing the crabber's name. "Are you any
relation to Link Harris?"

"Second cousin." The blue eyes examined him with new interest. "Where'd
you hear about Link?"

"At the Narrows," Scotty replied. "We were talking about flying