ingly apparent. The fish had undoubtedly taken to sea. Laying-to to check one of the last of the few remaining boats which rode at anchor, Dickie consulted her tally-sheet and shook her head.
"Not much in this," she averred. "It's a losing game so far. And there's only Big Jack with the Albatross yet to hear from. We ought to find him cruising off the seal rocks. He's generally the first out and the last to come in. He never gives up while there's a chance left. I've seen him 'chumming' for albacore all day and then bring in a bunch hours after everybody else had given up."
As they drew near the Albatross she hailed the fisherman: "How are the fish, Jack?"
Big Jack continued throwing the live bait from the tanks into the water. Then he straightened up and hitched at his suspender.
"They're beginnin' to come in like hell," he bellowed.
The fisherman was right. Gregory looked over the rail and gasped with wonderment. The sea about them was literally alive with fish. The lines which flashed over the side of the Albatross scarcely touched the water before the fish struck.
Dickie's eyes snapped at the sight.
"Put her about," she cried to Gregory. "And beat it as fast as you can for home. We'll make a killing if we can just overhaul enough of the boys to get in on the run. Load up, Jack," she called as the vessel swung about. "Cruise up and down and keep
'chumming' so we won't lose them. We're going after the fleet. Pound her for all she'll stand," she instructed Gregory. "Every minute means money."
They had been running only a few minutes when they sighted Mascola's speed-boat astern. The girl frowned as the Fuor d'Italia roared by in a swirl of white water.