Slat 'em off ag'in' the gunnel, an' bait up, Harve.

Lookin' won't help any.

It's all in the wages." Harvey smiled at the thought of his ten and a half dollars a month, and wondered what his mother would say if she could see him hanging over the edge of a fishing-dory in mid-ocean.

She suffered agonies whenever he went out on Saranac Lake; and, by the way, Harvey remembered distinctly that he used to laugh at her anxieties.

Suddenly the line flashed through his hand, stinging even through the "flippers," the woolen circlets supposed to protect it.
"He's a logy.