Will shook his head.
“They taste strong, and they say they’re not wholesome, sir,” replied Will. “Look, they’ve just caught a bass.”
The beautiful silvery fish was passed on by one of the fishermen, and the brilliant scales and sharp, perch-like fin of this favourite fish were being examined, when a violent splashing and commotion told of the presence of something larger in the net.
Whatever it was it escaped for the time; but ten minutes later it was caught in another net, a large, vigorous-looking fish, which made a bold effort to escape, but instead of leaping back into the sea fell into the bottom of one of the boats, where one of the fishermen gave it three or four vigorous blows with a club before he passed it on to Josh, who ladled it into his own boat with the net borrowed from Dick.
“Hake, sir,” he said to Mr Temple. “Right good fish, sir, cooked anyhow; and I say as good as cod.”
“How came that to be in a mackerel shoal?” said Mr Temple.
“Hungry, sir, I should say,” replied Josh. “They generally follows the herring and pilchards, and snatch ’em as they’re coming into the nets. I s’pose this one wanted a bit o’ mackerel for a treat.”
“About nine pounds, sir, I should say,” said Will. “You’d like to keep it for dinner?”
“Is it good enough?” said Mr Temple smiling.
“Good enough, sir!” cried Will. “Oh, yes! People don’t know what a good fish hake is, or they’d oftener want it in London. There’s another fish that isn’t a mackerel, Master Dick. What should you say that is?”