“I say, are there any large fish here?”
“Large fish, my boy? Wait a moment.—Pull, Jack.” They rowed close up to a clump of piles, driven in to save the bank from the constant washing of the stream.—“Now, look down, old fellow,” continued Scarlett, “close in by the piles. It’s getting too late to see them well. It ought to be when the sun is high.—Well, what can you see?”
“A number of dark shadowy forms close to bottom,” said Prayle.
“Ay, shoals of them. Big barbel, some as long as your arm, my lad—ten and twelve pounders. Come down some day and we’ll have a good try for them.”
“Don’t go too near, dear,” cried Aunt Sophia.
“All right, auntie.—Here, Jack, take the boat-hook, and hold on a moment while I get out the cigars and matches.—Ladies, may we smoke? Our work is done.”
“A bad habit, James,” said Aunt Sophia, shaking her head at him.
“But he has so few bad habits, aunt,” said Lady Scarlett, smiling.
“And you encourage him in those, my dear,” said Aunt Sophia.—“There sir, go on.”
“Won’t you have a cigar, Arthur?”