George, meanwhile, had taken one of the dead chubs and, placing it on a hook, dropped the line into the water, and though he had no rod, he “played” his bait so well that in a few minutes he felt a savage tug, and quickly yanked his line on board, though he failed to land his trophy.
“They’re savage this morning,” he remarked, as he looked at his hook, on which the head of the chub was still fast, having been cut from the body as if by a knife.
“Did a fish do that?” inquired Jock, eagerly, as he gazed curiously at George’s hook.
“That’s what he did. I’ve known ’em to do worse things than that. Hello,” he suddenly added, “the other boy’s got something.”
Bob, who was too much engaged to heed his new appellation of “the other boy,” certainly did “have” something. His rod was drawn beneath the surface, and when he strove to lift it, it seemed to be fast to the bottom.
He was speedily undeceived, however, for his line began to cut swiftly through the water, and he rose from his seat in his eagerness. The others were as deeply interested as he, and it was evident that Bob’s strike was of no ordinary character. George grasped one oar and brought the boat about, carefully avoiding the current and at the same time favoring the movements of the excited young fisherman.
“He must have a monster!” said Jock, eagerly.
“It’s a big one, and no mistake,” replied George. “Now, be careful with your slack. There, that’s right,” he added, as Bob once more permitted the struggling fish to run with the line.
But Bob was wary now, and had had sufficient experience to enable him to play his victim well. The struggle continued for several minutes, and at last, with a quick, deft swing of his rod, he brought the wearied fish alongside the boat, and George speedily had it on board with a thrust of his ever-ready gaff-hook.