The man ran forward, and Jack, with eyes fixed, began to play his fish with a little more nous, but it was terribly hard work.
“Tell me when you’re tired,” said the mate.
“Now.”
“Shall I play him for you?”
“No, no! Don’t touch it,” cried Jack, who was unaware for some moments that he had an audience to look on.
“Oh no, I won’t touch till you tell me,” said the mate.
“Bravo!” cried the doctor; “capital. Well done, Jack, that’s the way. I ought to have been here. Why you’ve got hold of a thumper.”
So it proved, for the fish showed no sign of giving in for another quarter of an hour, and various were the comments made as to the probability of its being got on deck; but at last the darts grew shorter and shorter, and far astern they saw a gleam from time to time of something silvery and creamy as there was a wallowing and rolling on the surface, and now the mate took hold of the keen hook attached to a light ten-foot ash pole.
“Perhaps you’d like to gaff him, Doctor Instow,” said the mate.
“No, no,” replied the doctor. “Fair play. You two were fishing. Land him yourself.”