“Yes,” said Rob, “a trout rod isn’t meant in any case for fish as heavy as this. Besides, you see, these salmon never take a fly; even if we had any flies to go with the rod, or any line, or any reel, for that matter.”
“The reel is on the butt joint of the rod; I’m pretty sure I saw it there. Come, let’s find out! I tell you, I’ve got an idea,” insisted John.
They all repaired to the beach where, as promised, John produced the rod from its hiding-place under the drift-wood log. True, the reel was there in place. Without delay he put the joints of the rod together, finding some difficulty in this, for the rain and salt air had not improved it in the least. None the less they threaded the line through the guides and found that everything was serviceable.
“Uncle Dick would not care,” said John, “if he knew just how we are situated.”
“Still, I don’t get your idea,” began Rob.
“Well, I don’t know whether or not it’s a very good one,” answered John; “but who’s got a few little hooks to lend me now?”
“Here are two or three,” said Jesse, fishing in his pockets. “They’re about big enough for bait hooks for trout, but salmon won’t take any bait. I don’t see what you mean.”
John made no comment, but cut off two or three short pieces of the line about a foot in length. To each of these he attached one of the sharp-pointed little hooks and fastened them at intervals a couple of feet apart on the line. One hook he tied at the end of the line itself.
“Oh, I see!” said Rob. “You mean to throw that outfit as though it were a fly.”
John nodded. “If you can cast as light a thing as a little trout fly with this rod,” he said, “you ought to be able to cast these hooks—larger, not much heavier, and just about right to go straight. Anyhow, let’s go down and try.”