There was a vain tug, a little out of "time;" and then there was a boy on the bottom of the boat, and a pair of well-polished shoes lifted high in the air.
"You've got it," shouted Dabney.
"Got what ?" exclaimed an all-but angry voice from down there between the seats.
"Caught the first 'crab,'" replied Dabney: "that's what we call it.

Can you steer?
Guess I'd better row." "No, you won't," was the very resolute reply, as Ford regained his seat and his oars.

"I sha'n't catch any more crabs of that sort.

I'm a little out of practice, that's all." "I should say you were, a little.

Well, it won't hurt you.