Pagina 202 di 416

Pete came in with a scowl on his face, cursing everything under

the sun, and especially a fisherman's life. When told of the

smoke smudge he evinced comparatively little interest.

"We'll find out what she is when she gets here. What I'd like to

know is, what's the matter with our bait?"

"Bait gone wrong again?" asked Code anxiously, his brows

knitting. "That stuff on the trawl wasn't the only bad bait,

then."

"No. Everybody's complainin' this mornin'.

"Not only can't catch fish, but ye can't hardly string the stuff

on the hooks. An' that ain't all. It has a funny smell that I

never found in any other clam bait I ever used."

"Why, what's the matter with your hands, Pete?" cried Code,

pointing. Ellinwood had removed his nippers, and the skin of his

fingers and palms was a queer white and beginning to shred off as

if immersed long in hot water.

"By the Great Seine!" rumbled the mate, looking at his hands in

consternation.