“It’s all right,” said Mercer breathlessly. “It’s a big one, and you must have him. Don’t hurry.”
“Is it very big?” I whispered excitedly.
“I think it is—over a pound, I should say. Let him get tired, or he’ll break away. Ah, it’s of no use, you’re caught fast, old gentleman, whatever you are. It’s a big carp or a tench. I think it’s a carp, it’s so strong.”
The struggle went on for fully five minutes before the fish gave in.
“Now we’ve got to land it,” said Mercer. “Can’t do it here, or he’ll break away. I know. Give me your rod to hold. That’s it. Now you go back, and I’ll pass it to you.”
He laid his own tackle down, and I walked carefully along the narrow woodwork, back to the shore, while he drew the fish round, and then reached toward me, till I could catch hold of the rod and feel the fish still feebly struggling.
The next minute Mercer was by my side, the fish was drawn in close up amongst the sedge growing on the bank. My companion went down flat, reached a hand into the water, and scooped out my capture, which lay now flapping feebly in all the glory of its golden scale armour, a short, thick, broad-backed carp.
“There,” cried Mercer, “didn’t I tell you this was a grand place? Why, it must be a two-pounder;” and I stood gloating over the vividly-bright colour of my capture, while Mercer knelt down, took out the hook, and finally deposited the fish in a hollow, and covered it with fern fronds.
“Look! look!” I cried just then.
“Oh, bother! Why, there’s one on,” said Mercer. “Here, give me your rod;” and he stepped quickly out on to the penstock, and made a cast with my line, trying to throw it over the top part of his own rod, which was slowly sailing away, floating on the water with a curious motion going on at the end, which kept diving down, as if something was trying to draw it under water.