Little Lion by Ann Hood Read Free Book Online Page B

they didn’t answer, he said, “A schooner?”
    Felix laughed nervously. “I’m not sure.”
    Alexander pointed to a large ship that looked very much like one of the tall ships that had sailed through New York Harbor.
    â€œThat ship there is a schooner. The square rigged one beside it is a bark. Barks have three or more masts.”
    Felix tried to look interested, but all he wanted was that fish they’d been promised. When Alexander kept talking, Felix groaned. This guy might never shut up.
    â€œThey say that when the first one was launched in the colony of Massachusetts half a century ago, someone watching said, ‘Oh, how she scoons!’” Alexander said. “In Scottish,
scoons
means to skip or skim over water. Well, the builder of that ship, Captain Andrew Robinson, replied, ‘A schooner let her be then!’”
    Maisie thought she could listen to this Alexander Hamilton talk forever. He was a show-off and full of himself, but he was charming just the same.
    â€œWhat’s that one?” she asked him just to keep him talking. Maisie pointed to a smaller ship.
    Felix glared at his sister.
    â€œThe small one?” Alexander asked. “That’s a sloop.”
    â€œWow!” Felix said. “Great! Is that fish you were telling us about around here somewhere?”
    â€œThis way,” Alexander said, leading them past the people hawking food and wares.
    He stopped at the small stand of a woman who was dropping fish dusted with flour into bubbling oil.
    â€œAlexander,” she said, smiling at him. “How is Mr. Cruger treating you?”
    â€œJust fine, Miss Liza,” he said. “My new friends here need to try the best fish in Christiansted.”
    Miss Liza blushed. “Go on with you,” she said.
    She lifted several pieces of fish from the oil with a small wire basket and placed them in cones made from newspaper.
    â€œOne for yourself, too, I imagine?”
    Alexander laughed his hearty laugh. “You know I cannot resist your fish,” he said.
    Miss Liza made a third cone and added fish to it.
    As he took a few coins from his pocket, Maisie got a good look at them. No wonder the conch lady had looked so suspicious. These coins were smaller and lighter, nothing like the silver dollar she now had nestled in the front pocket of her jeans.
    Alexander handed a cone of fish to Maisie and then one to Felix. The third cone he lifted up, pretending to read the newspaper.
    â€œThis one doesn’t have my poem in it, I trust,” he joked. “I hope it’s not meant to hold fish. Even fish as good as yours.”
    Miss Liza grinned at him. “That poem, Alexander, made me blush. And I understand you lied about your age to the
Gazette
.”
    â€œOnly by a year,” Alexander said.
    Miss Liza shook her head. “Alexander!” she pretended to scold.
    After good-byes and thank-yous, Alexander brought Maisie and Felix to a dock where they could sit away from the crowds, facing the ocean.
    â€œShe puts sugar in the batter,” Alexander said as he took a bite of fish. “That’s what makes it so delicious.”
    It
was
delicious. Crunchy and sweet, the white fish inside flaky and fresh.
    â€œWould you like to hear my poem?” Alexander asked them. “The one that ran in the
Gazette
?”
    â€œI have a feeling you’re going to recite it no matter what we say,” Felix said.
    Alexander cleared his throat, then began in a deep, strong voice, “In yonder mead my love I found . . .”
    As he recited the poem, Felix pretended to listen. But the poem wasn’t to his liking. It was overly romantic, something about a shepherd boy falling in love.
    When Alexander finished, Maisie applauded enthusiastically. “I love your rhymes,” she said.
    Felix snorted. Maisie didn’t care about rhymes or poetry. Why was she acting like this?
    â€œYes,” Alexander said,