“Why?”
“Because there is so little for the hook to hold on by.”
“Oh! I say! look here!”
During the above conversation the line had been allowed to run out forty or fifty yards, the lad holding it in his left hand, with his arm hanging over the stern. Then all at once there was a sharp snatch, and Dick turned over on to his knees, holding the line with both hands.
“I’ve got him!” he cried. “Such a big one! Oh, don’t he pull!”
“Well, why don’t you pull?” cried Will laughing at his new friend’s excitement.
“I’m going to play him first.”
“Pull him in sharp, hand over hand, or you’ll lose him!” cried Josh.
The boy obeyed, and drew away at the cord till he could see what looked like a great silver shuttle darting about in the quivering water, and then, panting still, he drew out a fine mackerel, with its rippled sides, glorious with pearly tints, and its body bending and springing like so much animated steel.
“Oh, you beauty!” cried Dick in a state of excitement. “But I thought it must have been four times as big; it pulled so.”