Part 44 (2/2)

”No,” the scientist answered; ”it's a much better climber than the skippy. It will run up the trunk of a palm tree.”

”Now come, Dr. Jimson,” expostulated Colin. ”Do you expect me to believe that?”

”Certainly, when it is true,” came the reply. ”The statement often has been made and then disbelieved, but there is plenty of scientific evidence now to arm its truth.”

”Does it climb up to the top and crack cocoa-nuts?” queried the boy, still incredulously.

”Not quite that,” his friend said, smiling. ”I believe seven feet is as high a climb as is known, that being recorded officially by one of the staff of the Madras Government Central Museum. The creature usually only climbs during a heavy tropical rainstorm, and it is believed that the fish, accustomed to ascending tiny streams, is stimulated to climb the tree by the rush of water flowing down the bark. The gill cover is movable, and the spines of the ventral fins very sharp. It doesn't go up head first, you know, but sideways.”

”How does the fish climb down, then?” queried Colin.

”Tumbles,” was the laconic reply.

”And starts up again?”

”No, it usually hops sideways over land to a mud-bank again, not to have another climbing fit until the next big tropical shower comes after a period of drought. But if you wanted to find out all the strange habits of fishes,” continued his friend, as the schooner ran into New Bedford harbor, ”it would take more time than one swordfish trip would give you.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: CLAMMER RAKING FOR QUAHAUGS IN NEW BEDFORD HARBOR.

_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: OYSTERMAN TONGING FOR OYSTERS IN BUZZARD'S BAY.

_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

On the way back to Woods Hole, going down the harbor, Colin questioned the captain of the M. B. L. boat, the _Cayadetta_,--which happened to have been at New Bedford that afternoon, and on which he had been given the courtesy of a pa.s.sage--why there seemed to be two different kinds of boats scattered over the harbor oystering.

”That feller's not oysterin',” the captain answered; ”he's rakin'

quahogs.”

”Quahogs?”

”That's clams,” was the explanation; ”the right name for what the people down in New York call a 'little-neck clam.' The 'neck' is a foot, and it's little because the quahog doesn't burrow deep. The long or soft clam does.”

”And he just pulls them up with a rake?”

”Yep,” was the reply; ”big rake with curved tines to it. You see he jerks his rake along until he feels it full, then pulls it up. Now, this feller, over on the other side here, he's not goin' after clams at all.

He's oysterin'. Ef you'll notice, he has two poles an' he works 'em apart an' together again like a pair o' shears, an' then when he feels he has a load, he hauls it up the same way, picks out the oysters that are big enough, an' throws the small ones back together with the stones an' other rubbish that he has brought up. They call that 'tonging'

oysters, an' the thing he uses is called the 'tongs.'”

”I've been wondering,” said Colin, as they pa.s.sed over the bay and he noted again all the lobster-pot buoys which had interested him so greatly on the way to New Bedford, ”I've been wondering whether there was any crabbing done up this way?”

”Not much,” the captain answered; ”there's one caught now an' again, but all the good eatin' crabs belong further south. New Jersey's the place f'r crabs, an' I reckon most o' the soft-sh.e.l.l crabs o' the country come from there, but the business o' cannin' crabs is done way down in Chesapeake Bay, where there's crabs no end.”

”A soft-sh.e.l.l crab is just the same species as the regular blue crab, isn't it,” asked the boy; ”only it has cast its sh.e.l.l?”

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