“I don’t want to catch any more, thank you,” said Arthur.
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Josh, in his quiet stubborn fashion. “Don’t you say you don’t. It won’t be half so startling ketching the next one, and I’ve got a tender well-beaten bit of squid for the next bait—one as will tempt the biggest conger that is in the hole.”
“No, no!” whispered Arthur. “I don’t want to fish any more; I don’t indeed.”
“Hush!” whispered Josh; “you’ll have them hear.”
Arthur was silent directly, and just then his fright was at its height with the conger that Dick had hooked, and that Will gaffed and hauled in. For as Will struck at it with the conger-bat or club, instead of there coming a dull thud as the blow fell, there was the sharp tap of wood upon wood.
Will had missed this time, and the conger was apparently starting on a voyage of discovery about the boat.
Arthur shrank back, but before the fish could come his way and tangle the lines Will caught Dick’s about a yard above the hook, dragged the fish towards the stern, and gave it four or five paralysing blows in succession, disabling it, so that he soon had the hook out, and he and Dick stood looking at each other and panting with excitement.
“Hor—hor—hor!” laughed Josh quietly as he seated himself on the thwart and leisurely began to pass the hook through the grey piece of tough soft cuttle-fish. “Look at ’em, Master Rawthur, there be a fuss over a conger not above half as big as ourn.”
“It was ever so much stronger,” cried Dick indignantly.
“Hear him, Mast Rorthur!” cried Josh. “Hor—hor—hor! There, go on, you two. We’re going to give you a startler this time. There you are, sir,” he whispered, holding up the bait for Arthur to see. “That’s one as’ll tempt um, and you see we’ll have another big one before they know where they are. I say, you won’t be scared of the next, will you, now?”