When I thought I was going to be sick, I telephoned the office, and they said all right, that they didn't need me.

Now I've got eleven dollars, and there are three holidays of perfect weather before us: to-day, to-morrow, and Monday.

What will we do?
What must we do to be saved?
Our matrimonial objects don't materialize till Monday night.

In the meanwhile, what?
Shall we go down to Chinatown--to the restaurant, or to the water-front again?
Maybe the mate on the whaleback would invite us to lunch.

Or," added Condy, his eye caught by a fresh-fish peddler who had just turned into the street, "we can go fishing." "For oysters, perhaps." But the idea had caught Condy's fancy.
"Blix!" he exclaimed, "let's go fishing." "Where ?" "I don't know.