“He’s gone now!” said Arthur, hauling in the line; and then in a tone of voice so despairing that his brother burst into a hearty laugh: “Here’s another at it now!”
“I say, what a place this is, Taff!” cried Dick. “Here, let me help you!”
“No, no,” cried Josh; “you let him ketch the conger himself. Slacken, my lad.”
As if moved by a spring, or disciplined to obey the slightest word of command, Arthur slackened the line.
“Now, then, haul again,” cried Josh; and the boy pulled in the line eagerly, as if moved by the idea that the sooner he got the hook out of the water the less likelihood would there be of its being seized by one or other of the monsters that inhabited the rocky hole.
“He has got it again!” cried Arthur in tones of anguish; “he’ll pull me in!”
“Oh, no, he won’t; you’re a-going to pull him out, if he don’t mind his eye,” said Josh sturdily. “You’ve got some brains, young gentleman, and he arn’t.”
“But there must be a swarm there after my bait,” pleaded Arthur.
“Not there,” cried Josh. “There’s one got it.”
“But I’ve had three or four on, and they’ve gone again.”