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There's a good stove, and always plenty of driftwood on the beach. It's a mighty snug place on a stormy day." Percy turned up his nose at this list of good points. "What's that pile of chicken-coops near it?" "Lobster-traps." "And that big box with its top just above water?" "A lobster-car. All that we catch in the traps we put in there until the smack comes." The mooring-buoy was now alongside.
Does he go around with a pistol on a trick-pony, same ez the circus? They call that the Wild West, and I've heard that their spurs an' bridles was solid silver." "You are a chump!" said Harvey, amused in spite of himself. "My father hasn't any use for ponies. When he wants to ride he takes his car." "Haow? Lobster-car?" "No. His own private car, of course.
Percy, in particular, remembering the habits of certain of his friends, took the story to heart. Nobody said anything more until they were inside the cove and running toward the lobster-car. Budge and Throppy saw them coming and rowed out in the pea-pod. While the lobsters were being dipped aboard the smack and weighed, Spurling tinkered the Barracouta's engine.
"I've come to look over your car." Jim took his dip-net and stepped into the motor-boat, and they ran up to the lobster-car. A few minutes' investigation of its contents satisfied the official that it contained no "shorts." "Glad to be able to give you a clean bill of health," said he as he set Jim back on board the sloop.
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