But when he got his hand in the gills of the fish they clamped down upon his fingers, and, in the struggle, he was almost hauled out of the boat.
"Hey! Help!" he bawled. "What are you fellows? Just passengers?"
Frenchy gave him a hand on one side and Ikey on the other; between them the trio hauled a ten-pound bass over the gunwale. Torry was dancing around in glee and shouting at the top of his voice.
"Hush!" commanded Whistler. "You'll scare even the sharks and dogfish away."
"Or you'll dance through the rotten old bottom boards of the boat and we'll have to walk ashore," added Frenchy.
But it was a great catch, and the others could feel nothing but envy of Torry's success. He had set a pace that none of them could equal; for after that there did not seem to be another bass of even two pounds' weight in the whole ocean.
"Hey, fellows!" ejaculated Ikey suddenly. "Who's this coming?"
"Somebody walking on the water, is it?" chuckled Frenchy.
"Aw, you needn't be correcting my English," responded Ikey. "There are no medals on you for being a purist."
"Wow, wow!" yelled Torry. "Listen to him sling language."