The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories

								

her in bold disregard for the proprieties.
Arm in arm with Philip, she was strolling slowly down the great pier
which extends from the Mexican Gulf Hotel into the waters of the Sound.
There was no moon to-night, but the sky glittered and scintillated with
myriad stars, brighter than you can ever see farther North, and the
great waves that the Gulf breeze tossed up in restless profusion
gleamed with the white fire of phosphorescent flame.  The wet sands on
the beach glowed white fire; the posts of the pier where the waves had
leapt and left a laughing kiss, the sides of the little boats and
fish-cars tugging at their ropes, alike showed white and flaming, as
though the sea and all it touched were afire.
Annette and Philip paused midway the pier to watch two fishermen
casting their nets.  With heads bared to the breeze, they stood in
clear silhouette against the white background of sea.
"See how he uses his teeth," almost whispered Annette.
Drawing himself up to his full height, with one end of the huge seine
between his teeth, and the cord in his left hand, the taller fisherman
of the two paused a half instant, his right arm extended, grasping the
folds of the net.  There was a swishing rush through the air, and it
settled with a sort of sob as it cut the waters and struck a million
sparkles of fire from the waves.  Then, with backs bending under the
strain, the two men swung on the cord, drawing in the net, laden with
glittering restless fish, which were unceremoniously dumped on the
boards to be put into the fish-car awaiting them.
Philip laughingly picked up a soft, gleaming jelly-fish, and threatened
to put it on Annette's neck.  She screamed, ran, slipped on the wet
boards, and in another instant would have fallen over into the water
below.  The tall fisherman caught her in his arms and set her on her
feet.
"Mademoiselle must be very careful," he said in the softest and most
correct French.  "The tide is in and the water very rough.  It would be
very difficult to swim out there to-night."
Annette murmured confused thanks, which were supplemented by Philip's
hearty tones.  She was silent until they reached the pavilion at the
end of the pier.  The semi-darkness was unrelieved by lantern or light.
The strong wind wafted the strains from a couple of mandolins, a
guitar, and a tenor voice stationed in one corner to sundry engrossed
couples in sundry other corners.  Philip found an untenanted nook and
they ensconced themselves therein.
"Do you know there's something mysterious about that fisherman?" said
Annette, during a lull in the wind.
"Because he did not let you go over?" inquired Philip.
"No; he spoke correctly, and with the accent that goes only with an
excellent education."
Philip shrugged his shoulders.  "That's nothing remarkable.  If you
stay about Pass Christian for any length of time, you'll find more
things than perfect French and courtly grace among fishermen to