It was agreed that the boys were to fish, while Harry, who voted fishing a bore, and was devoted to the gun, would scour the adjacent scrub for birds, and the forest beyond for kangaroo; Denny having promised the boys a "foine boilin'" of kangaroo-tail soup. To quote the actual words in which he preferred his request—"If Harry wud shute wan iv thim fellas as hops wid their ta-ales, and carries their childre in their pockets,[#] Oi, wud ma-ake sich a soup as niver was."
[#] The natural pouch of the marsupial for bearing its young.
The shooter, armed with a fowling-piece and a short rifle, after attending to the horses, disappeared in the scrub in search of game. Meanwhile the fishers, having cast their lines, assume an expectant attitude.
To their great disappointment there are no bites; not even the stimulating nibble. The patience of these amateurs is sorely tried. A whole hour passes without the slightest sensation of a bite. Lines are cast and recast. The fishermen move to and fro, to no useful purpose.
"Well, of all the rotten frauds of places for fishin', this takes the bun! Dash it! we'd better have stayed at the camp an' fished there. At least we'd——"
"Howld yer whisht, bhoys!" said Denny in an excited whisper. "Oi'm jist goin' to git a boite; th' line's thrimblin' sure. Faith 'tis a Dutchman smellin' the ray-shons, Oi'm thinkin'."
"It's not a schnapper, if that's what you mean by a Dutchman. No nibblin' about a schnapper, Denny. More likely a crab."
"By Saint Michael! Joe, div yes call that a crab? Be dad, thin, it's a big sa-ay whale, or maybe one iv thim mare-mades Miss Jassie warned me aginst. Be th' hokey, th' loine's cuttin' me fingers!"
The line, which for a minute or two had given faint twitches, and a few premonitory shakes, now suddenly whizzed through the Irish boy's fingers.
"Take a pull on her, an' steady her!" cried Sandy. "You'll lose fish an' line, too, if you're not mighty smart."