“What! go into the water? No, thanks.”
“What! shrink from wading when you’ve got on a fish like that at the end of your line? Here, let me come.”
“No; I’ll play the brute and land him myself. But, I say, it’s a fine one of some kind; pulls like an eel. Look how it’s wagging its head from side to side.”
“Better let me come,” said Dickenson, whose face was scarlet from excitement.
“Get out!”
“I’ll never forgive you if you lose that fish, Lennox, old man.”
“Not going to lose him. Look; he has turned, and is coming up-stream;” for the line, which a few moments before was being violently jerked, suddenly grew slack.
“Gone! gone! gone!” cried Dickenson, with something of a sob in his throat.
“You be quiet!” said Drew. “I thought, it was only a bit of wood a few minutes ago.”
“Fish, of course, and the hook’s broken away.”