“Here, hi! Throw that over here, Michael Pollard,” cried Will.
“It be only a gashly scad,” said the great, black-bearded fisherman; and he turned the fish good-humouredly into Dick’s landing-net.
“Why, it’s a kind of mackerel-looking fish,” said Dick, as he examined his fresh prize.
“Ah! mind how you touch it!” cried Will, “it is very sharp and prickly.”
“All right!” said Dick. “Oh! I say, though, it is sharp.”
“Well, you were warned,” said Mr Temple, as Dick applied a bleeding finger to his mouth.
“Yes, but I did not know it was so sharp as that,” said Dick. “Don’t you touch it, Taff;” and this time he turned the fish over more carefully, to see that it was much the same shape as an ordinary mackerel, but broader of body and tail, and less graceful of outline, while its markings and tints would not compare with those of the ordinary mackerel, and it was provided, as Dick had found, with some very keen spines.
“What do you call this?” said Arthur, rather importantly.
“Scad, sir—horse-mackerel,” cried Will.
“Are they good to eat?” said Arthur.