“May I?” cried the lad, flushing.
“Yes; go on. Where’s the big hook, Dave?”
“Why, s’pose I forgot it,” said Dave slowly.
“You haven’t,” said Dick. “There’s the stick,” and he picked up a short staff.
“Ay, lad, bud there be no hook.”
“Now, none of your old games, Dave,” cried Dick; “just as if we didn’t know! Come, out with it! You’ve got it in your pocket.”
Dave chuckled, and produced a hook made by bending round a piece of thin iron rod and sharpening the point.
This hook he inserted in the staff and handed to Dick, who immediately passed it to Tom, the latter standing up ready to hook the line when the time should come.
But that was not yet, for the floating bladder was more than a hundred yards away, and still skimming along.
“Be a long time making up his mind to swallow it,” said Dave, slowly and softly reducing the distance between them and the buoy, and then pausing while they were still fifty yards away.