“I thought I had a bite,” said Phœnix, after suddenly giving his line a little jerk, “but I believe my hook has fouled on something at the bottom.” Then, after another pull, he exclaimed, “It’s loose now, but there’s nothing on it. Hook, sinker, and all must have gone!”
And he began disconsolately pulling in his slackened line.
Suddenly the cord, which seemed to be merely floating in the water, straightened out with a jerk, and a yard or two of it ran through Phœnix’s fingers, burning like a hot iron.
Then, as the boy nervously grasped the cord with a tighter hold, he was pulled forward with such force that he fell plump upon his knees.
Adam sprang to help Phœnix, but as he did so, the boy rose to his feet.
“Whatever it was,” said Phœnix, “it’s off again. The line is perfectly slack.”
“Haul in! haul in!” cried Adam; “you’ve got one. Don’t let your line be slack, or he’ll get off.”
Phœnix, now quite excited, rapidly pulled in his line.
When it had become taut again, Adam said,—
“Pull in, but not too hard, or you’ll break your line. If he tries to rush off, give him a little line, but if he comes this way, haul in your slack as fast as you can, or he’ll get off the hook.”