“’Tis something of a mouth the pickerel has, for a fact,” said Ethan. “D’ye see how the teeth are all set the wrong way?”
The two boys eagerly examined their prize. The mottled sides still glistened and the beautiful markings were all clear; but the mouth, as the boatman had said, was enough to strike terror to all fishes of lesser degree.
“Not much chance for a chub if that trap once shuts to on him,” said Ethan. “If he tries to back out, he only drives the teeth in farther.”
“How much will he weigh, Ethan?” inquired Jock.
“Oh, seven or eight pounds. It’s a pretty fair pickerel.”
Jock was disappointed. To him it had seemed as if the pickerel must have weighed much more than that. His disappointment was still further increased when Ethan added, “They ain’t much good for eatin’. Oh, ye can eat ’em if ye want to, an’ some folks like ’em first-rate, but give me a bass every time.”
“That’s the reason I caught bass,” drawled Bob. “It’s a shame to pull out a pickerel when you don’t want him.”
“Pity about you,” laughed Jock. “I don’t care about fooling with little bass that aren’t big enough to leave their mothers. When I catch a fish I want to get one large enough to know what he’s doing. Hello,” he suddenly added, “there comes the other boat. I wonder what luck they’ve had.”
The other skiff was now swiftly approaching, as Jock had said, and in a few minutes it came alongside. Long before it was near enough for his voice to be heard, Jock exultingly held up to view the immense fish he had captured, and when his friends came closer, great was their astonishment and many their words of praise.