"Fifteen-pounder! Wish we could get a hundred more like him! Hullo! Who's next?"
The newcomer had a huge reddish-brown head with bulging cheeks; his blotched body, adorned with wicked spines, tapered slimly off to an inconspicuous tail.
"Horn-pout! Toad sculpin! Bah! Get out!"
Jim slat the fish disgustedly off, and he sculled slowly downward. Two more bare hooks. Then three hake in succession, the largest not over five pounds. On the next line hung a writhing, twisting shape about eighteen inches long. With a wry face Jim held the thing up for Percy's inspection.
"Slime eel! He's tied the ganging into knots and thrown off his jacket. Look here!"
He stripped from the line a handful of tough, stringy slime like a mass of soft soap.
"How's that for an overcoat! They always throw it off when they get hung up on a trawl."
Flinging the stuff away with a grimace, he rinsed his hand and cut off the ganging with his knife.
"No use trying to unhook that fellow!"
Fathom after fathom of trawl came in over the roller. The flapping, dying heap in the center of the dory enlarged steadily. Jim was spattered with scales from head to foot, and drenched with water from the splashing tails. He stopped for a moment to rest.