“Got a gaff, Will?” shouted Dick.
“There’s the old one stuck in the side, sir,” replied the lad; and, holding on with one hand, Dick reached the gaff-hook with the other; but though he got his fish close up to the stern two or three times, he found that he was not experienced fisherman enough to hold the line with his left hand and gaff it with the other.
“Here!” he cried at last, for Arthur was looking on helplessly. “You catch hold of the line while I gaff him!”
Arthur obeyed with a grimace indicative of disgust as he felt the wet and slippery line; and, in obedience to his brother’s orders, he dragged the fish close in; but just as Dick made a lunge at it with the big hook it darted off again, cutting Arthur’s hands horribly. The next time it was dragged in Dick was successful, getting his hook in its gills, and hoisting it on board, flapping and bounding about as if filled with so much steel spring.
“Hallo! you’ve got one then, Dick!” cried his father, turning round; Josh and Will having been quietly observant the while.
“Yes, father!” cried Dick in the most disinterested way; “Arthur held him and I gaffed him. Isn’t it a beauty? What is it, Josh—a silver pollack?”
“A-mussy me, no!” cried Josh, who had ceased rowing. “That be no pollack; that be a bass. Dessay there be a shoal out there.”
“Mind his back tin, Master Dick!” cried Will excitedly, as he saw Dick take hold of his prize.
“Yes, I’ll mind,” said Dick. “Here, never mind, it being wet,” he went on; “catch hold of him with both hands, Arthur, I’ll get out the hook.”
“Oh—oh—oh!” shouted Arthur, snatching back his hands. “It pricks!”