'Guess we'll see the 'Abbie M.Deering' to-morrer, dad, won't we?
They're all slippin' over from the shoal o' 'Queereau." "You won't see many boats to-morrow, Danny." When Troop called his son Danny, it was a sign that the old man was pleased.

"Boys, we're too crowded," he went on, addressing the crew as they clambered inboard.
"We'll leave 'em to bait big an' catch small." He looked at the catch in the pen, and it was curious to see how little and level the fish ran.

Save for Harvey's halibut, there was nothing over fifteen pounds on deck.
"I'm waitin' on the weather," he added.
"Ye'll have to make it yourself, Disko, for there's no sign I can see," said Long Jack, sweeping the clear horizon.
And yet, half an hour later, as they were dressing-down, the Bank fog dropped on them, "between fish and fish," as they say.

It drove steadily and in wreaths, curling and smoking along the colourless water.

The men stopped dressing-down without a word.