“So I see,” remarked Ethan, as he calmly picked up his oars and resumed his labors.
“But he was a big fellow!” protested Bob, “and I had him right up to the boat.”
“He was a pretty good one,” said Ethan, “but it’s a game of ‘now you see him and now you don’t.’ It’s a good deal of a trick to know how to land a three-pound bass. Still, you didn’t do so very bad for a greenhorn.”
Bob made no reply as he slowly reeled in his line at the boatman’s direction. Greenhorn! Well, there were some things he did not know, although he had spent much time in the city. To his mind Ethan, with all his good qualities, had been the greenhorn; but now the boatman was the one to accuse him of the possession of that very quality. His respect for Ethan went up instantly, and he looked up at him in a new light.
“You’ll soon get the hang o’ it,” said Ethan kindly, as he proceeded to bait Bob’s hook again. “You did first-rate for a beginner. The main thing is to look out for yer slack. A bass is a fighter, and he’ll take advantage o’ ye every time you give him a chance. I think we’ll try it again around this shoal. One strike may bring another.”
“Why do the bass come to the shoals, Ethan?” inquired Jock.
“That’s where the minnies [Ethan meant minnows] are, and they’re the ones the bass feed on. Now we’ll try it again.”
Once more Ethan began to row, and the long lines dragged on behind the boat. Both boys were all eagerness now, and Bob’s laziness had departed. They watched and waited for the longed-for “strike,” and soon to Bob’s great delight he felt the tug upon his line which indicated that his hook had again been seized.
“Now be careful, son,” said Ethan, “and mind you don’t give him any slack.”