“You might have kept on trying all day,” said Will. “There’s no bait.”
“Oh, indeed! then some fish must have bitten it off,” said Arthur in the most nonchalant way. “I thought I felt a tug.”
Will had his back turned to the fisherman, so that he could smile unobserved, for he knew that there had been no bait left on the hook, and that Arthur would not have soiled his fingers to put one on.
“There,” he said as he hooked on a good bright lask; “now try.”
He threw the bait over and then dropped in the lead, when the bait seemed to dart away astern, drawing out the line; but to Arthur’s surprise Will checked it instantly, caught the line from the gunwale and handed it to him, Will’s quick eyes having detected the dash of a fish at the flying bait.
“Why, there’s one on!” cried Arthur excitedly.
“Small pollack,” said Will smiling. “Haul him in.”
Arthur forgot all about the wetness of the line this time, and soon drew one of the brightly coloured fish inboard and called to his brother.
“Here, look!” he cried, “you never saw anything so beautiful as this.”
“Just like mine,” cried Dick, “only it was ten times as big.”