"I will not give yerself, a sorry excuse fer a duster, any single mackrel, let alone one of my prized catches of today: yes, my first-rate, pacific sea bass."

The broomstick replied by angling itself crooked.

"Aye, even though you untagled my rod," the Red Angler responded.

Charlie went upright in dispute.

"And retrieved various oysters for breakfast," the seaman said and then justified, "even though I be low on salted crackers."

With the tip of the handle, the broomstick gestured forward towards the wooden skiff like a swordfish attempting to pierce a distant coconut.

"And readjusted my figurehead, okay—I ain't givin' yew even a salty scallop."

On the edge of the well-scrubbed dock, Charlie slumped defeatedly.

"Aye scallywag," the unkempt fisher said after a long, drawn out moment, "I can't stand that attitude. Take a sardine. Here." He reached into his velvety crimson pea coat, quickly adding, "and we'll call it even when you sweep the deck t'morrow mornin'."

The Red Angler placed the very small, very dry fish in Charlie's dented bucket, but the cleaning appliance decided it would suffice. With a hurried motion, the broomstick took back to the skies, leaving the Red Angler adjusting an entire slimy cod, kept entirely against the lining inside his coat, so that it didn't leak on his button-down.

"My dead fish bones, what a handful of bilge water, that one is."

The streets were busy now, especially since the coastal residents crowded the diners and shops with robust, lunch-anticipated appetites. It was enough to slow even the pace of the bright red street cars. Passing the tan stone walls swaddled in ivy and tables of laughing patrons shaded by colorful umbrellas, Charlie caught up with one of them while almost knocking a long ham sandwich out of a pedestrian's hand.

"Charlie, my dear, it's half-past one," an older gentlemen greeted. He glanced at his simple watch as the ruby colored vehicle slowed to the line in front of them. "Shouldn't you be at Megan's? Just a half hour ago? Besides, how are you today, my beaming brushing charmer?"

The broomstick levitated, in a rolling wave motion, as a reply.

With some hesitance, while reinspecting his sleek pant pocket, the gentleman muttered, "good to hear."

Charlie stood upright, leaning in closer, next to the the line of passengers now boarding.

"Well yes, Charlie, I appear to have misplaced my wallet."

The handle prodded the air.

"Indeed. The new one. With the Baresi leather."

The line infront sagged forward.

"Oh, Charlie. Must I always get myself into these situations. Just at Alta Cove, I was having my usual breakfast while enjoying the waves. And I must've swapped my wallet with this drab camera again, although it did take fantastic pictures," the gentleman said while recalling with concern, "Then there's my appointment which is scheduled to take place in, my stars, four minutes!"

Everyone, including the women with a wide enough brimmed hat to give her trouble entering the street car, had gone into the vehicle.

"Well, I'll be. And there's no chance I can walk there in time—"

Charlie extended the bucket, shaking the loose change inside.

"Goodness Charlie, are you sure?"

The bucket shook once again.

Laughing, the gentlement complimented, "Your generosity is unmatched, let alone by any stick." He went aboard the street car while shaking the bristle-end of the broomstick firmly and said, "You have yourself a good day now, Charlie. And, hold onto this."

Setting a sea star in the bottom of a bucket, the gentleman exchanged it for coins equal to a fare down the road.

"I found it dried up in the dunes," he whispered as though it was some secret.

Charlie bowed and continued through the town, soaring above stained glass windows and urban foliage, as the gentlemen recounted to the operator, "Can you believe how devotedly kind that broomstick is?"

There was enough time to make it to the apothecary until a voice bellowed from just across the witch's business, "Hey! _Stickleson. _Down here this instant!"