“Gee!” burst simultaneously from the three of you; and you stared with wide eyes at the spot where the bubbles were floating.
“What was that?” ejaculated Hen.
“A big bass, I bet you,” averred Snoopie.
Nobody—within your memory, at least—ever had actually caught a “big bass” in these haunts, but upon various occasions, such as the present one, he had made himself known. To doubt his existence was heresy. He was here; of course he was. Nearly to see him was an exploit accomplished by many; nearly to catch him was accomplished by only a few less: but really to haul him out had been accorded to none.
In the meantime he cruised about, in his mysterious way, and now and then made a rumpus on the surface, to wring a tribute of hungry “Gees!” from the astounded spectators of his antics.
You gripped closer your pole and barely breathed. Perhaps he was heading in your direction; perhaps, at last, he would accept your worm, and, glory! you would be the boy to carry him through town, and home! Could anything be more deliriously grand?
On the other hand, misery! perhaps he was heading for Snoopie or Hen. However, he might turn aside.
Silence reigned; the atmosphere was tense with expectation. Another swirl, a small one, off a brush-pile nearer the shore, just to your left. Cautiously you tiptoed down there and craftily introduced your tempting hook.
The cork vibrated. For an instant you lost your breath. The cork dipped. You poised, rigid but alert, daring to stir not even a toe. The cork righted, dipped again, and slowly, calmly sank into the pregnant depths.
Furiously you struck. Your good pole bent and swayed. You were wild with excitement.