“Oh, no, not ordinarily. It is only that I must make a careful drawing or two, illustrative of the mechanical structure and action of a shark’s jaw and teeth, to go with an article I’m writing on the general subject of teeth in fishes, and I wish to draw the illustrations from life rather than from memory. It will rain to-day, and I’m going to avail myself of your hospitality and make the drawings under your shelter.”
“Then perhaps you’ll let us see them?”
“Yes, of course, and all the other drawings I have in my portfolio, if they interest you.”
“They will, if you will explain and expound a little.”
Dunbar gave a pleased little chuckle as he answered:
“I’ll do that to your heart’s content. You know, I really think I like to hear myself talk sometimes.”
“Why shouldn’t you? Your talk would delight anybody else.”
“Here’s my shark,” excitedly cried Dunbar, as he played the fish. “He’s nearly three feet long, too—a bigger one than I hoped for. Now if I can only land him.”
“I’ll help you,” said Cal, leaning over the rail with a barbed gaff hook in his hand. “Play him over this way—there, now once more around—here he is safe and sound.”
As he spoke he lifted the savage-looking creature into the boat and Dunbar managed, with some little difficulty, to free the hook from his jaws without himself having a thumb or finger bitten off.