But at the time Nick was busy with that shark line of his. He fancied that as the tide came in and went out through what might be called an inlet, always with more or less confusion, there was a pretty good chance to hook one of the sea tigers, if only he took pains.
“We’ve changed our course again, haven’t we, Jack?” Herb asked.
“That’s so,” came the reply; “you see, the coast no longer runs nearly north and south here, but turns to the west. And if one of those old Northers bursts on us now, why, we’ll get it from land side instead of the gulf; unless it whirls around, something these winter blows seldom do; because, you see, they don’t happen to be of the tornado, or hurricane type, just straight wind storms.”
Jack was always a fund of information to his mates. He studied things at every opportunity, and never forgot a fact he had learned. And it was surprising how the others had come by degrees to depend on him in all sorts of emergencies.
“I do be glad, Jack, darlint,” remarked Jimmy, just then, “that ye make Nick put on a loife preserver ivery toime he do be going in that cranky dinky, to carry out his baited shark hook. It’s him that is so clumsy, the boat looks like ’twould turrn over at any minute, so it does. And he so fat and juicy, how do we know some hungry shark mightn’t loike to take a bite out of him? Look now at the gossoon, would ye, and how he worrks? In all me experience I niver yit saw such a change as there has been in our Nick.”
“Yes, that’s so,” laughed Herb. “You know, they say competition is the life of trade; and it seems to be putting a good lot of life in Nick Longfellow. Why, he jumps around now like nobody ever saw him do before. If this keeps up long, he’ll be able to play on our baseball team next season. Wow! just imagine the Ice Wagon galloping across centre to grab a long fly!”
Meanwhile, the object of all this talk was paying strict attention to business. He had been shark fishing so many times now that he seemed to have the whole thing down to a fine science. After baiting his bog hook, with its attendant chain, he dropped it in a promising place. Then he made for the shore, paying out the stout line as he went most carefully.
Once on the sandy strip of beach, Nick fastened the rope to the nearest tree he could find, first taking a couple of hitches around a stake he had driven in deeply, not far from the water’s edge, and which was to serve as a snubbing post, in case he were lucky enough to make a strike.
“It’s very pat,” remarked Jack, when the stout youth rejoined the group about the fire, “that if any of us want to know about sharks, their habits, and how best to get the pirates of the sea ashore, we’ve got to go to Nick here.”
“Yes,” spoke up George, “he ought to be a walking dictionary of terms; because he’s always asking questions of every cracker and sponger we meet. I honestly believe, boys, he keeps a shark book, and that he’s got an idea of writing the family tree up some day.”