“Oh, that’s all ready,” said Josh laughing; “but you ain’t had a touch yet.”
“N–no—I’m not sure,” said Arthur; “something seemed heavy at the end of the line.”
“Four pound o’ lead, my lad, is heavy,” said Josh, smiling. “You’ll know when you get a conger.”
“Hadn’t—hadn’t we better fish for something else, as the congers don’t bite?”
“How do you know as they don’t bite?” said Josh good-humouredly.
“They—they don’t seem to,” said Arthur. “Perhaps the bait’s off. Had we better see?”
“Oh, no; that bait isn’t off,” said Josh quietly. “You bide a bit, my lad. Congers don’t care about light when they’re feeding. You’ll see when the sun’s well down.”
“But I’d rather fish for mackerel, I think,” said Arthur as he gazed down into the dark water, and seemed to see twining monsters coming up to pluck him out of the boat.
“Couldn’t ketch mack’rel here, my lad. This is a conger hole. Reg’lar home for ’em among these rocks. Will and me found ’em out: nobody else comes and fishes here. We found this hole.”
“Ahoy! here’s a game. Oh, don’t he pull! Oh, my hands!” cried Dick.