Timoteo did not wonder at it. He had a very
humble opinion of himself, yet sometimes he wished Herbert would
only look at him as he passed by. Herbert would not have spoken
rudely to Timoteo. That, Herbert would have considered degrading. He
simply ignored the Spanish boys of the school.
One Saturday morning, when Timoteo stood on the edge of the cliffs
outside the town, he saw Herbert picking his way out over the long
stretches of rocks to seaward; a basket on his arm and a stick in
his hand.
"He go to get abalones, and think he can knock them off with a
stick!" laughed Timoteo.
Herbert had not long lived in this vicinity, and he did not know the
tenacity with which the large, oval-shaped shell, called abalone, or
ear-shell, which is so well known and valued for its beautifully
colored, irridescent lining, clings to the rock when the shell's
inmate is living. At school, the day before, Timoteo had heard
Herbert say that he intended going after abalones on Saturday.
"He no get any," prophesied Timoteo, gazing after Herbert's
disappearing figure.
Timoteo himself was out abalone-hunting. This was one of the ways by
which he occasionally earned a few cents, visitors to the town
buying the large shells for curiosities. But Timoteo had with him a
long iron spike with which he intended to urge the abalone-shells
from the rocks.
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