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Show U TKe Fisher 1 ii A splash of yellow light foil from tho doorway of tho enfo ot S. Maurln Into tho still, blue darkness of tho little lit-tle quay, whero n coupln of flickering lamps only served to mnko tho gloom moro profound. Tho moon had not risen nnd tho palo radlanco of tho stars showed tho long, slow swell of an oily sea. Against tho wall of tho quay lay a tiny sailing yacht Farther out, midway betwoen tho horns of tho hnrbor, a fishing bout, with widespread sails that seemed hardly to catch tho faint uvoning air drifted llko a shadow through tho night. In tho cufo half a tlozon men, fishers of this littlo port, lounged Idly over their glasses. Old Antoiuo, tho Innkeeper, Inn-keeper, drowsod as usual In his corner cor-ner chair. Jean Modesto, his grandson, grand-son, eat with n torn net across his knee and his black head bent.. Tho rest slipped their coarso wlno and talked to each othor spasmodically of tho weather or tho prospects of a good catch. Suddenly Jean Modesto, looking up from the tear in tho net, mado with his hand tho sign of tho cross. Tho others looked at him with curious, half frightened cyos. Ho was staring through tho opon doorway at tho sea. Thero was an Instnnt of heavy silence. Tho glnsses ceased to clink nnd only old Antolno snored softly in his corner. cor-ner. Jean Modosto's oyos fell again to his net. "Tho Fisher!" bo said, In a low tono ot explanation. Evory one, oxcopt tho sleeping Innkeeper, Inn-keeper, turned at onco to tho door. Detween tho horns of tho bay tho ono wldo sail was driving lazily nearer. Again thero was sllenco In tho cafe, an odd, unwholosomo stillness, heavy with 111 omen and expectation ot evil to como. Proseutly big Jules Bontemps took a draught of his wlno and sot tho glass down noisily on the tablo at which ho sat. "For my part," ho said, "I don't bcliovo in this FIshor thoro! Evory snll you seo near S. Maurin It's tho samo tiling with you nil tho FIshor! I'm a stranger I thank tho good God thoro's no Fisher In tho port of Nice no! Now, will any of you tell mo, my friends, who this FIshor of yours Is, and what ho seeks?" Tho question was addressed generally, gener-ally, to tho wholo company prosent, but nobody answered. Instead thoy all looked at Jean Modesto as ho bent over his not. "Who ho is " hfl spoko meditatively. medita-tively. "Ah, for that no ono can toll you. What bo seeks Hint's another matter. Thoy do say ' Ho broko off and glanced again through tho open door. Tho black "The flsherl" he said, In a low tone, sail was drifting vory slowly toward tho land. "Woll, what do thpy say?" Bontomps asked, impatiently. Tho young man turned again to his not. "Thoy say," ho nnsworod, in the same low, unwilling tono, "that he flshos for the souls of nion." Bontemps stared for n second. Then ho Hung back his rought black head with a great laugh. "The souls of men! Ah, my faith, that's good! Are you Christians, thon. In this harbor of S. Maurln?" "As good as any in the port ot Nice," Joan Modesto replied, with a. touch ot heat. Bontomps lnughod again. "No offense, my frlouil, Hut come, it's absurd, ypu know. . It's moonshine that's what .It is. This l'Iphor of yours" Joan Modesto cut through his speech and iifu.,1 a finger from his net te point through the door. "Thf-re," he said, "Is the FIshor. LaiiKh if you please." Bontemps was silenL Tho shndowy sail had drlftod very near. Agnln stillness fell upon the little group, broken only by tho old man's heavy breathing. "Laugh If you plenso!" Jean Mo-dosto Mo-dosto said again. "None of us hero IbSI The fisher had not fished In vain, will laugh with you. What If wo can not tell you who the FIshor Is? Ws know his work well enough. Did ho not follow my brother's boat, tho Mario ;Blnncho, tho Inst voyago ovor bIio uook? Novcr n man camo .back to Hell tho taVs but tho Fisher sailed yAp'iind thort out ot S. Maurln Bay. rfutiBuw-with-theso eycs- yes!" . Bontompsdld not nnswer. A kind of brcathlcsHness had fallon upon tho rest. Joan Modesto shifted tho not across his knoo and spoko onco moro. "You ask what tho FIshor seeks," he said. "Woll In tho port of Nlco ho may havo othor buslnoss for what I know. But hero, when ho snlls In tho bay, ho seeks a man's soul." Again thoro was sllenco. Through tno doorway tho could seo tho black shadow of tho sail almost touching tho quay. Tho strango fishing boat was very near. Tho tall mast scorned to touch the stnrs. tho sails woro llko tho wings of an Immonso bat stretched between them nnd tho luminous bluo of tho clear night sky. In the cafe no ono niovod or breathed. Jean Modosto's hands lay MIo on his feoL Bontemps sat motionless, mo-tionless, with his fingers strotchod out to tako up his unfinished glass of I wlno. For some reason ho did not I tako It. His oyos, too, wero fixed upon i tho shadwy sail hanging abovo tho quay. Then, silently as It had como, tho boat heeled ovor and tacked seaward. 'A light wind caught tho hugo sail and swept It boforo It out into tho oay. Tho still, dark, floating thing becamo In a moment allvo, buoyant, Incrodlbly light and swift, a whlto llickor of foam toro at her bows as sho headed for Uio sea. Tho men In tho cafo watched with n (loop, unacknowledged sonso of rollof. Still, for a whllo no ono spoko. Tho littlo grimy, ill smelling placo was extraordinarily ex-traordinarily sllont; It seemed as though something within Its walls had ceased It hold the emptiness of n room in which a pleco of machinery had just run down. Bontomps was the first to speak. "Woll thoro," ho said, drawing n quick breath, "your Flshor's gono. Ho knows how to sail his ship I'll say that for him, whoovcr ho Is. But what did ho sook, oh? What fish was ho after, your FIshor of souls?" No ono nnsworod and Bontomps chuckled a littlo, quietly. Joan Modesto Mo-desto gathorcd his net upon his arm and roso to all his holght as ho turned rom tho opon door. Then suddonly ho stood rigid nnd tho nets slipped and fell at his foot In a brown tangle. Tho othors, nervous ner-vous with tho roaction nftor tho ton-?lon ton-?lon of that moment when the shadow shad-ow ot the black sail lay across tho quay, followed the dlrectlou of his Btnrtlad look. Thero was a qulok movotnent ot horror, of surprise, and with the shuffling of rong i sea boots upon the bare Door the lean, blue-shifted blue-shifted seamen rose to their feet. Ifor old Antolne's gray head had fftlfall forward on his breast his hoargo brenthtiig was still. He sat denij Jn ht corner chair, with an un-touanrjd un-touanrjd wine beside him! V WJKhout, In the olenr bluo night, a daMnjTod. boat we.nt, ravlW to tho swpWJio Fisher nnd not fished in vInBnck nnd White. |