In his mad endeavour to crowd Dudley from his vantage point, Paul caught the toe of his boot in the thwart of the boat and stumbled, receiving a flabby skate plumb in his face, as the fish was swung inboard at the end of the short line.
But no one had time to console the sputtering Paul, nor indeed, did he complain of the mishap, as the next hook was about to appear above the surface of the water.
“What’s on that one?” shrilled Paul, not able to see for himself.
“Ugh! only a dog-fish,” grunted the Captain. “Stab him and chuck him overboard, Fred.”
“No, no—wait a minute, I want to see him first,” cried Paul.
His curiosity for a closer acquaintance with dog-fish was gratified ten times over in the next few minutes and Captain Ed remarked with disgust, “Humph! Guess their ain’t nuthin’ else in the bay.”
But even as he spoke, a fine cod rewarded the haul.
“Now, that’s something like!” commended Mr. Remington.
“How much do you s’pose she weighs?” cried Billy.
“Oh, about six pounds, but we’ll do better’n that,” said the Captain.