Another crab. Orissa came clambering over the rocks to her friend's side. The sun was sinking.
"What luck, Syb?"
"Only three crabs. I'm afraid it's too shallow here for fish."
Orissa leaned over the still struggling crab—the only one that had not escaped.
"Why, we pay big money in Los Angeles for these things," said she. "They're delicious eating; but they have to be boiled, I think, and then cracked and newburged or creamed."
"Keep an eye on the rascal, then," said Sybil. "Can't he be eaten just boiled?"
"Yes; with mayonnaise."
"There's none handy. Let the high-brow go, and we'll fish for something that doesn't require royal condiments."
But Orissa weighted the crab with a heavy stone, to hold him down. Then she sat beside Sybil and watched her.
"I'm afraid our fish dinner must be postponed," began Miss Cumberford, sorrowfully; but at that moment the line jerked so fiercely that she would have been pulled from her seat had not Orissa made a grab and rescued her. Then they both clung to the line, managing to draw it in by degrees until there leaped from the water a great silvery fish which promptly dove again, exhibiting a strength that nearly won for him his freedom.