“Cut a piece off the silvery part and put on your hook.”
“To be sure, sir; but hadn’t I better cut off all but the head, and leave that on?”
“Try it,” said Syd, who forgot all his cares of government over the sport.
The man whipped out his knife and cut through the remains of his fish just at the gills, throwing out the bright silvery lure, and the moment it touched the water, all fresh and bleeding, it was seized by a heavy fish, which he dragged in successfully, for it to be flapping about with its scales as large as florins flashing in the sun, all silver and steely blue.
“Ten pounds, if he’s an ounce,” cried Roylance. “I say, Rogers, are you going to have all the fun?”
“No, sir. Have a try,” cried the man. “I’ll soon put you on a good bait. Look here, sir, this head’s on tight. Try it again.”
Roylance threw in his line, but there was no answering attack; and he waited a few minutes, with the waves carrying it here and there.
“No good,” he said. “Cut a fresh bait.”
But as he spoke there was a jerk which made the line cut into his hand, followed by a desperate struggle, and another, the largest fish yet, was landed; one not unlike the last caught, but beautifully banded with blue.
“Why, here’s provision for as long as we like to stay,” cried Syd.