“Oh! it’s big enough,” said the lad, snatching his line in. “Didn’t seem like a river down behind there.”
“Right, my lad; like being at sea, ain’t it?”
“Yes, and it’s all so flat where you can see the shore. An ashy, dusty, dreary place, either too hot or too cold! Why, I wouldn’t live at Monte Video or Buenos Ayres for all the money in the world.”
“And right you’d be, my lad, says Shadrach Naylor. Ah! Why, look at that! Fish is fish all the world over. You don’t expect they’ll bite at a bare hook, do you?”
“Bother the bait! it’s off again,” said Rob, who had just pulled in the line. “It always seems to come off.”
“Not it, lad. There, I’ll put a bit o’ meat on for you. It’s them little beggars nibbles it off.—There you are; that’s a good bait. Perhaps you may get a bite this time. As I says, fish is fish all the world over, and they’re the most onaccountable things there is. One day they’re savage after food; next day you may hold a bait close to their noses, and they won’t look at it. But you’re hot and tired, my lad. Why don’t you do as others do, take to your sister?”
“My sister!” cried Rob, staring. “I haven’t got one.”
“I didn’t say sister,” said Shaddy, showing his yellow teeth; “I said sister—nap.”
“I know you did,” grumbled Rob; “why don’t you say siesta?”
“’Cause I don’t care about making mouthfuls of small words, my lad.”