“We’re going to still-fish, are we, Ethan?” said Jock.
“I’m thinkin’ some on it.”
“What do we catch here?” inquired Bob.
“That depends. Some folks catches one thing and some another, an’ sometimes they doesn’t catch anything at all.”
“Why do you put such a fish as that on my hook?” exclaimed Jock, aghast.
Ethan had taken a fish, a “chub,” he termed it, which must have weighed a full half pound at least, and baited Jock’s hook with it.
“To catch fish with,” remarked Ethan, laconically, as, after inspecting the struggling bait, he threw it overboard. “Now let him take your line and go where he wants to. Not too fast. Go easy, like,” he added, as he turned to equip Bob in a similar manner.
“Ethan thinks we’re after alligators or whales,” said Bob, as his own line began to run out. “Oh, well, we’ll have the fun of sitting out here on the water if we don’t get a strike,” he added, settling back in his comfortable chair.
Indeed it did seem as if no fish in the St. Lawrence would be attracted by such a bait as that which the boatman had provided. Neither of the boys really expected any result, but they were not inclined to protest.