Again I rebaited, again there was a bite, and again a crab clawing wildly at the air appeared at the end of the line.
“H’m—a sister this time, or perhaps a daughter. Back she goes, however,” and crab number three popped safely overboard, only to be succeeded by crab number four.
“These are Scotch crabs, I should think,” I grumbled, “they’re so clannish;” but him too I sent on his way rejoicing. Then a fifth appeared on the scene.
“Oh, hang it all!” I growled. “I shall never get any fish if the crabs eat up my bait as fast as I put it on. I hoped that last was an orphan, but it seems as if I had struck another family gathering.”
Crab number six added insult to injury by refusing to let go the bait, though I turned him over on his back and shook him till he rattled.
“Oh, I can’t stand this,” I said, raising a menacing heel. But more humane feeling prevailed, and once more I stooped to assist the pertinacious crustacean to his native deep. A nip from his foreclaws was all I got for my pains.
“Very well,” I said, “if you will have it, you will.”
Down came the heel, there was a sickening scrunch, and what had been a crab was a noisome mess.
Then I heard an exclamation of disgust behind me, and, looking guiltily round, saw that Mullen, who had hitherto been too absorbed in watching the shipping to interest himself in my fishing, had heard the scrunch of the crab’s shell under my heel, and had turned to ascertain the cause.
“You brute!” he said. “Why couldn’t you throw the wretched thing back into the water?”