“I wish it would, Bobby—that is, so long as it was a nice fat calf. I’m so ragingly hungry that I should look upon a steak off one of those india-rubber gentlemen as the greatest delicacy under the sun.”
“Oh, don’t talk nonsense. One of those things wouldn’t be likely to bite. But I say, Drew, old chap, do you think there are any fish to be caught?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Bobby. But here’s a river; it looks likely. Fishes live in rivers; why shouldn’t they be here?”
“To be sure; why not?” said the other, brightening up and looking better. “Who knows? There may be carp and tench, eels and pike.”
“Not likely, Bobby, my lad; but most probably there are fish of some kind, such as live on this side of the equator.”
“Mahseer, perhaps—eh?”
“Bah! This is Africa, not northern India. Let’s get down and make a beginning. We had better get down through that woody rift.”
“I wish I’d got my six-jointed rod, old fellow.”
“But as you haven’t, we must try what we can do with a line.”
“I say, it was lucky you thought to bring some hooks.”