“Let me take him,” said Will.
“No, no, I’ll catch him!” cried Dick excitedly. “I’ve got such a big one, Taff; he’s trying to pull my arms out of the sockets!”
Tug—pull—jerk—drag—the line was running here and there; and if Dick had not twisted it round his hands it would have been drawn through them. As it was, it cut into them, but he held on like a hero.
“Let the line go!” Will kept saying—“let the line go!” but Dick did not seem to understand. If he did, he was not disposed to let it run, and, as he thought, lose the fish; and so he dragged and hauled hand over hand, with Arthur shivering and ready, but for sheer shame, to get right away in the bows, as the struggle went on.
“Here he is!” cried Dick at last. “Oh, what a monster! and how he pulls!”
Arthur did not turn his head, and so he saw nothing of what followed, for he felt sick with dread; but there was a scuffling and a splashing, then a beating and flapping in the boat.
“Keep him clear of the line, Will, lad!” said Josh.
“Right!” was the laconic reply; and then there were two or three heavy dull blows, as if some one were striking something soft. And now Arthur turned round to see that Will had the great head of an eel between his knees, out of which he cleverly twisted the hook, and held the slowly writhing creature up at arm’s-length.
“Oh, what a monster!” cried Dick.
“Only a little one,” said Will, laughing. “It is not above fifteen or sixteen pounds.”