"Thomas A. Easton - When life hands you a Lemming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

bait. I heard Clem gasp, but I didn't turn to ask him why.

In a moment, Amy pulled a small fish onto the float beside her. Alf said, "Pollock."

"Damn good thing," said Clem.

I turned toward their bench. They didn't look any different, but.... "What do you mean, dangerous?"

Clem shrugged. "They don't come into the harbor much."

"Unless there's a lot of garbage in the water," put in Alf. He leaned toward the edge of the wharf and spat
again.

"Ayuh. That's true. At high tide."

I looked at the water line on a post that now served only as a mooring. Once it had helped to hold up a
neighboring pier. The tide wasn't high at the moment, so whatever they were moaning about didn't seem
likely to pop out of the water right away. But the tide _was_ coming in.

"Dammit!" I said. "What are you two talking about?"

"Wild automobiles," said Alf.

"Ayuh," said Clem. "The worst kind."

"They've turned against us," added Alf.

"Tear traps and drags into paper clips," said Clem.

"Slice nets _all_ to pieces."

"Divers too."

"'N they've pulled a boat or two down."

Amy caught another fish. I thought it might be a small flounder, but I didn't waste time peering. I called
her in. The tide was getting too high for my comfort.

"People are staying off the water," said Clem. "That's a fact."

"Except the sport fishermen," said Alf.

Were they pulling my leg? That was a fine old Down-East sport, and though Roachsters had been
running off to sea for over a year, I had never heard of anyone catching one. Briefly, I wondered whether
the sport fishermen used harpoons, but I didn't ask. Nor did I ask what those sport fishermen did with
their oversized trophies. I could just barely imagine the front end of a Roachster hanging over a mantle.

Amy ran toward me, fishing rod and bait cup in one hand, her stringer with its two fish in the other. Her
expression was dark. "I wanta keep fishin', Daddy," she cried when she reached the base of the ramp
that linked the wharf and the nearest float. "They're biting!"