Dexter threw in again; but there was no bite, and as the time went on, it seemed as if all the fish had been attracted to the other side of the river, where the shabby-looking boy, who fished skilfully and well, kept on capturing something at the rate of about one every five minutes.
They were not large, but still they were fish, and it was most tantalising to one to be patiently waiting, while the other was busy landing and rebaiting and throwing in again.
At last a happy thought struck Dexter, and after shifting his float about from place to place, he waited till he saw the boy looking at him, and he said—
“I say?”
“Hullo!” came back, the voices easily passing across the water.
“What are you baiting with?”
“Gentles.”
“Oh!”
Then there was a pause, and more fishing on one side, waiting on the other. At last the shabby boy said—
“You’re baiting with worms, ain’t you?”