A few minutes later, “Whiz-z-z” again, and “Whiz-z-z!” Two silver flashes! Two fountains of spray! Two mighty splashes! Paul and Remington had each hooked a salmon at nearly the same instant! And then there was fun! Ainsworth could hardly contain himself as he watched the play, shouting directions and cautions to one and the other. There was danger of getting their lines tangled when both fish darted up stream at once, or made dives for the bank at the same time, in efforts to free themselves. Finally Paul’s fish rushed in upon him, gained slack line, shook loose the hook and was free.
Paul could have cried with disappointment and vexation.
“Just my luck!” he exclaimed, as he saw Remington land a fine salmon.
“Oh, no, don’t get discouraged. You did mighty well for the first time,” encouraged Remington.
“I notice you landed yours, all right,” said Paul pettishly.
“But I may lose the next one. The uncertainty of whether you’ll land them or not after you’ve hooked them is half the fun.”
“I can’t see that——”
“Whiz-z-z”—away went his line again before he could finish. For half an hour, directed by Remington, he played the fish, and was at length rewarded with as fine a salmon as Ainsworth’s—considerably larger than Remington’s.
“What fun! Oh, but it’s great!” he exclaimed as, all a-tremble with excitement, he examined his catch.