“Oh, yes; they say so; and we’ll take a chunk out of him to try,” was Jack’s answer. “Where did you get him, Nick?”
“Up the shore a little ways. Do I have to tell just how, Jack?”
“See him try to back out,” jeered the envious Jimmy, as his eyes took in the enormous bulk of the prize, and he mentally figured that it must weigh all of two hundred pounds, against which his bass of fifteen must look like a baby.
“Yes, we want to know everything, so begin,” declared George.
“Well, when I was walking along, I discovered this silly thing splashing like Sam Hill close to the shore. He must have been left by the tide, and was half stranded between two bunches of coquina rock. I had a sudden wild idea, and hurried back here to get a rope.”
“So that’s why you wanted it, was it?” cried George. “I was a little afraid you might be thinking of hanging yourself; but then I expected the rope would break if you tried that. But go on, Nick.”
“Oh, there ain’t much to tell, for I just harnessed the old chap up like you see, worked him loose from the rocky wedge, and dragged him to camp. But I hope now, after all my hard work, you ain’t going to say I didn’t catch that fish. Anyway, our rules read so long as a feller gets the game by fair means, and without help. Here he is, and you can rig up some sort of scales to weigh him. What’s a few pounds, more or less, among friends? But what do you say, Jack, Herb, Josh and George?”
“Why, according to the letter of the rules, you win,” Jack remarked.
“That’s correct,” ventured Josh.