“What sort of a hook have you got on, Mr Jovanni?” cried Shaddy.
“One of those big ones, with the wire bound round for about two feet above it.”
“Then I tell you what, my lad: I don’t believe that strong new cord’ll break. S’pose both of you get hold after he’s had this run, haul him right up, and let’s have a look at him! Strikes me you’ve got hold of one of them big eely mud-fish by the way he hugs the bottom.”
“Shall we try, Joe?”
“I—I’m afraid of losing it,” was the reply. “It would be so dreadful now. Perhaps it will be tired soon.”
“Don’t seem like it, my lad!” said Brazier. “It is not worth so long and exhausting a fight.”
“Right, sir, and they’ve been too easy with him. You get his head up, Mr Rob, as soon as he gives a bit, and then both of you show him you don’t mean to stand any more nonsense. That’ll make him give in.”
“Very well,” said Joe, with a sigh. “We have been a long time. Wait till he has had this run.”
The line was running out more and more through Rob’s fingers as he spoke, and the fish seemed bent on making for the farther shore; but the lad made it hard work for the prisoner, and about two-thirds of the way it began to slacken its pace, almost stopped, quite stopped, and sulked, like a salmon, at the bottom.
“Now both of you give a gentle, steady pull,” said Brazier; and Joe took hold of the line and joined Rob in keeping up a continuous strain.