“Bit it in two,” said Shaddy. “Ah, they have some teeth of their own, the fish here. Ought to call ’em dogfish, for most of ’em barks and bites.”
While he was speaking Joe had moved to the side of the dinghy, reached over to a little locker in the stern, opened it, and returned directly with a big ugly-looking hook swinging on a piece of twisted wire by its eye.
“They will not bite through that,” he said as he returned.
“Oh, but that’s absurdly big,” said Rob, laughing. “That would frighten a forty-pound pike.”
“But it wouldn’t frighten a sixty-pound dorado, my lad,” said Shaddy quietly.
“What?” cried Rob. “Why, how big do you think that fish was that got away?”
“Thirty or forty pound, perhaps more.”
By this time the young Italian was dividing the orange which Shaddy had laid upon the thwart beside him, and half of this, with the pulp well bare, he placed upon the hook, firmly securing this to the line.
“Now, Rob, your turn,” said Joe; and the lad eagerly took hold, lowered the bait, and tossed over some twenty yards of line.
“Better twist it round the pin,” said his companion.