“No,” replied Mr Denning, coldly; “I have only just begun.”
There was silence for a few minutes, Walters’ coming having seemed to damp our proceedings.
“Here, I know what’s the matter,” he said suddenly, taking a couple of steps close up to Mr Denning. “Your bait isn’t right.”
“Mind!” I cried. “You’re treading on the line.”
“Well, it won’t hurt it,” said Walters, roughly, and he kicked some of the rings up with one of his feet. Then to Mr Denning—“It isn’t as if I’d got on nailed boots. Here, let me pull in your bait and pat a proper one on. I’ve caught lots of fish. He doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Thank you,” said Mr Denning, coldly, “when I require your help, I will ask for it. Ah!”
He uttered a sharp ejaculation, as there came a sudden fierce tug at the line which dragged his hands right out to the full length of his arms and brought his chest heavily against his side.
“Hooray! you’ve got him,” cried Walters, “and a big one too. Hold fast!”
It was as if Mr Denning was playing at the old forfeit game of the Rules of Contrary, for he let go. The line rushed out, and the next moment the rings in which Walters had stepped tightened round his legs just as he was changing his position, and with so heavy a drag that the lad lost his balance and came down heavily upon the deck, which his head struck with a sharp rap.
“That was your doing!” he shouted, as I rushed at him where he was struggling to free himself, for the line kept on tightening round him from the furious jerks given by the fish which had seized the bait.