The stake was all that could be desired
for a deep-sea mooring, and to it the painter was attached.
"What are you going to do about your end of the vessel, Corry?" he
asked.
"That's all right," replied the lawyer, who, forthwith, took off coat
and waistcoat.
"You are not going to undress, I hope," remarked his friend; "there is a
bare possibility that people, even ladies, might be walking this way,
sir, and I do not wish to be disgraced."
"Never fear, Wilks, my boy, it's my braces I am after." With this,
Coristine took off these articles, and, fastening a button hole over a
rusty nail in the stern, tied the other end about a root of the birch.
The dug-out was securely fastened, so that the current only rocked it a
little, causing the lawyer to sing "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep."
Then they sat down on their boards and began fishing.
They had a very pleasant hour hooking shiners and chub, and an
occasional perch that looked at a distance like a trout. The dominie,
_apropos_ of his friend's braces, told Alphonse Karr's story of the
_bretellier_ in the Jardin des Plantes, and the credulous sceptic who
did not believe that a suspender tree existed.
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