ed over it night and day to keep the catch from
mysteriously immaterializing, as well as to gather it in, Scud was
satisfied with his diurnal visits. He "wa'n't a-goin' to keep a-runnin'
to see the fish swim in. If they were fool 'nough to go in the trap,
they could stay there till he underrun an' bailed 'em out." His methods
of gaining a livelihood were unique on the coast; yet it was Scud who
"stocked" eight hundred and fifty dollars that summer clean, two hundred
dollars above any one else in the harbor. It was the saying among some
of the jealous fishermen in the cove, who were not blessed with two
pairs of twins, that "nobody 'arned so easy a livin' as Scud without
doin' no work." But these indistinct murmurs never stimulated Scud nor
impaired his good nature. Indeed, Scud was the happiest man that ever
lived. What a dancing, laughing eye! What a catalogue of joys therein!
What contagious, hopeful humor! What irrepressible buoyancy of spirits!
Who could help loving Scud, as one loves a huge, long-coated St. Bernard
dog? Scud was the laughing, joyous, piping Pan of the ocean. He smoked
not, neither did he drink. He had no vices that debased him. Chewing is
not a vice for a fisherman. But he did have a curious taste for candy.
No present pleased him so much as a half a pound of caramels or of
sugar-coated nuts. It was the sweet animal nature instinctively laying
hold of sweets.

Scud's "easiness" was unmitigated--at times it was exasperating; but
this made him all the fatter, the jollier, the more companionable; and
as it succeeded so well, why not? Summer boarders were appreciative of
Scud. He lived upon them. Twins?--they did it. It was a dime show, and
the money was paid.

Two sets of authentic twins! It was enough to drain a woman's heart of
sympathy, a woman's pocket of money; and the summer boarders were mostly
women--married women, with husbands sweating in the city to support
them; single women, school-teachers and that sort.

But Scud stood looking at the ties. He seldom bought clothes, any more
than he purchased firewood or paid for his fish. They came to him. Here
was a pair of trousers that was once a bishop's. That coat and vest were
the velveteen relics of a posing artist. The cap was a yachtsman's gift,
and the neckties came as a matter of course. Yet Scud never begged. And
once when he caught one of his four-year-old boys insinuating to a
summer boarder, with outstretched palm, that he would like a