“You know,” observed Burd sternly, “although these fish out here may be dumb, they are not deaf. You chatterboxes keep quiet.”
Jessie was greatly excited. She had a nibble on her hook, then a positive strike.
“Oh! O-oh” she squealed under her breath. “There’s—there’s something!”
“Is it a wolf or a bear?” demanded Amy, giggling.
“Can you get it aboard, Jess?” asked Darry, from the other side of the deck.
Jessie was not awkward. She had pulled in a good-sized fish before. This one splashed about a great deal and, when she raised it to the surface, it looked so much like a big rubber boot that Jessie squealed and almost dropped it.
“Hey! What did I say about that stuff?” called out Burd. “You’ll give all the fish nervous prostration. My goodness! What is that?”
He hurried to give Jessie a hand in hauling up the heavy, slowly flapping fish. It was half as broad as a dining table, with one side grayish-white and the other slate color. The skipper gave it a glance and laughed.
“Virgin,” he said. “We don’t eat that kind o’ fish.”
“Oh, dear! isn’t it a flounder?” wailed Jessie, disconsolately.