For as Vince spoke he had resumed his seat, deftly placed a lug-worm on his hook and thrown the lead into the water, where it sank rapidly, drawing after it the line over the low ridge of rock.
“There,” said Vince, as his companion followed his example, “I won’t move, and I won’t make a sound.”
“Don’t,” said Mike: “I do want to catch something this time.”
“All right: I won’t speak if you don’t.”
“First who speaks pays sixpence,” said Mike.
“Agreed. Silence!”
The fishing began, but fishing did not mean catching, and the time went on with nothing to take their attention but an unusual clamouring on the part of the sea-birds, which, instead of sitting about preening and drying their plumage, or with their feathers almost on end, till they looked like balls as they sat asleep in the sun, kept on rising in flights, making a loud fluttering whistling as they swept round and round the cove, constantly passing out of sight before swooping down again upon the great rocks which shut out the view of the open sea.
Lines were drawn up, rebaited, and thrown in again, with the faint splashes made by the leads, and they tried close in to the side, to the other side, to right and left; but all in vain,—the baits were eaten off, and they felt that something was at their hooks, but whether they struck directly, or gave plenty of time, it was always the same, nothing was taken and the hours passed away.
They were performing, though, what was for them quite a feat, for each boy had fully made up his mind that he would not have to pay that sixpence. They looked at each other, and laughingly grimaced, and moved their lips rapidly, as if forming words, and abused the fish silently for not caring to be caught, but not a word was spoken; till all at once, after a tremendous display of patience, Vince suddenly struck and cried:
“Got him at last!”