“Wind to-night, gentlemen, and the schooner will be off the bank.”
“The pampero?” said Giovanni—or, to shorten it to Rob’s familiar nickname, Joe—quietly.
“Looks like it, my lad. There you have him.”
For all at once the line tightened, so that there was a heavy strain on the side of the boat.
“That’s one of them little ones, Mr Rob, sir.”
Joe frowned, and there was a very intense look in his eyes as the line cut the water to and fro, showing that some large fish had taken the bait and was struggling vigorously to escape.
Rob was all excitement now, and ready to bewail his luck at having given up the chance of holding so great a capture on the hook.
“To think o’ me not recollecting the orange bait!” grumbled Shaddy. “Must have been half asleep!”
Those were intense moments, but moments they were; for after a few rushes here and there the taut line suddenly grew slack, and as Rob uttered an ejaculation expressive of his disappointment Joe laughed quietly and drew in the line.
“Look,” he said, holding up the fragment of gimp attached by its loop to the line. “I knew it was not strong enough.”