"We go off on these picnics almost every week," said Trina, by way of a
beginning, "and almost every holiday, too. It is a custom."
"Yes, yes, a custom," answered McTeague, nodding; "a custom--that's the
word."
"Don't you think picnics are fine fun, Doctor McTeague?" she continued.
"You take your lunch; you leave the dirty city all day; you race about
in the open air, and when lunchtime comes, oh, aren't you hungry? And
the woods and the grass smell so fine!"
"I don' know, Miss Sieppe," he answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the
ground between the rails. "I never went on a picnic."
"Never went on a picnic?" she cried, astonished. "Oh, you'll see what
fun we'll have. In the morning father and the children dig clams in the
mud by the shore, an' we bake them, and--oh, there's thousands of things
to do."
"Once I went sailing on the bay," said McTeague. "It was in a tugboat;
we fished off the heads. I caught three codfishes."
"I'm afraid to go out on the bay," answered Trina, shaking her head,
"sailboats tip over so easy. A cousin of mine, Selina's brother, was
drowned one Decoration Day. They never found his body. Can you swim,
Doctor McTeague?"
"I used to at the mine.
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