“There, that’s the way to do it,” said Philip, who at that moment secured one. “Try again, Harry.”
But Harry was already trying again; and, profiting by past experience, had succeeded in landing two or three decent-sized eels, one after another, and secured them all. There was no stopping to bait the hook, and no disengaging the fish from the bait, for they let go of the worstedy worm as soon as they were lifted out of the water, or as soon as they could drag their teeth out of the woolly delicacy; and as to biting, they seized the bob with the greatest eagerness, for it was evident that the mill-dam swarmed with the eel tribe, now seeking their prey upon the warm summer evening—evidently a time when they loved to leave their muddy abodes.
“How many have you caught, Fred?” said Philip.
“Six,” said Fred, in a half whisper; for he had one just then at his bob.
“Why, where are they then?” said Harry.
“Oh! I caught them all,” said Fred; “but they tumbled in again.”
“There’s a goose,” said Harry; “why, you did not catch them then. Here’s another, such a big one,” he continued, as he landed one nearly as thick as his wrist. “How many have you got, Phil?”
“Only four,” said Philip, “and such little ones, I shall change places with somebody. No, I shan’t,” he continued; “there’s a beauty. Why, that’s bigger than yours, Hal.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Harry, “I’m sure; but look, Fred’s got one.”
But Fred had not, for, in spite of the many bites he obtained, not a fish could he draw out of the water; for without exception they all fell in again, he not having yet hit upon the knack of landing them, which should be done with a quick but gentle motion; for the slightest jerk makes the eel loose its hold.