“I’ll take it off for you,” said Will.
“No, no, I will. Get me another bait.”
“All right!” cried Will.
“Ugh! you nasty cannibal, eating bits of your own brother!” cried Dick, apostrophising the lovely fish as it lay beating the bottom of the boat with its tail.
“Hor! hor! hor! hor!” laughed Josh heartily, the idea of the fish being a cannibal tickling him immensely. “They’ll eat their own fathers and mothers and children too, when they get a chance.”
“Mind, or he’ll tangle the line,” said Will; and he pounced upon the fish just as it was going to play shuttle in the boat, and weave the line into a task that it would take long to undo.
Then another bait was hooked on, the line thrown over, and Will resumed his oar.
“Put her along, Josh,” he said.
“Ay, ay, lad,” cried the sturdy fellow; and the water began to patter beneath the bows of the boat, when all at once there was a sharp crack, and Josh went backwards with his heels in the air.
“Look at that,” he said sourly. “That comes o’ having bad thole-pins;” and he began to knock out the remains of the pin that formed the rowlock and which had broken short off.