Hewasasleepwhentheboylookedinthedoorinthem.Itwasblowingsohardthatthedrifting-boatswouldnotbegoingoutandtheboyhadsleptlateandtheheoldman’sshackashehadeeachm.Theboysawthattheoldmanwasbreathingandtheheoldman’shandsaartedtocry.Hewentoutveryquietlytogsomecoffeeandallthewaydowntheroadhewasg.

Manyfishermenwerearoundtheskifflookingatwhatwaslashedbesideitandonewasier，histrousersrolledup，measuringtheskeletonwithalengthofline.

Theboydidnotgodown.Hehadbeentherebeforeahefishermenwaslookingaftertheskiffforhim.

“Howishe？”ohefishermenshouted.

“Sleeping，”theboycalled.Hedidnotcarethattheysawhimg.“Leturbhim.”

“Hewaseighteefromail，”thefishermanwhowasmeasuringhimcalled.

“Ibelieveit，”theboysaid.

HewentintotheTerradaskedforaofcoffee.

“Hotandwithplentyofmilkandsugarinit.”

“Anythingmore？”

“No.AfterwardsIwillseewhatheeat.”

“Whatafishitwas，”theproprietorsaid.“Therehasneverbeensuchafish.Thoseweretwofinefishyoutookyesterdaytoo.”

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