The Betsy Anne headed in for the docks at the Pool. The long low piers were fairly crowded with craft of all kinds, ranging from tiny motor boats and fishing sloops to long low-bank schooners and trim-looking trawlers. This was Austin’s Pool, one of the best-known fishing villages in that section of Maine, and the point from which fish and lobsters were sent to Portland, Boston, and New York.
Fishermen swarmed over the dock. Some were loading their little vessels with tubs of bait and butts of water, others were unloading their day’s catch, while still others were just sitting around on the string pieces or tie posts, smoking and gossiping and waiting for the time to put out for a night’s work on near-by fishing grounds.
Old Mitchell took particular care to bring the Betsy Anne alongside of the most popular dock of all and as he came about and dropped the main sail of his sloop he was greeted by a chorus from the pier.
“How’s luck over Hood Island way, Mitch?”
“How many markers this time, English?”
“What’s the haul?”
To this last the lobsterman answered by waving his “barker” and pointing to the two lads in the bow.
“What’s t’ ’aul, say you? Why, ’ere’s t’ ’aul. Two o’ t’ bloominest lobster piruts as ever was. Found ’em a robbin’ o’ my traps right afore my heyes,” he said with a grin.
Instantly Jack and Ray became the center of attention. Seamen gathered from all quarters, it seemed, and looked the lads over, as Old Mitchell forced them to climb the landing ladder.
Of course the two boys felt greatly humiliated at all this, especially since the lobsterman still insisted on flourishing his revolver.