Harry held on like a barnacle while Weezy sat on the edge of the wharf, dangling her feet, and moving her line slowly up and down in the way she had seen fishermen do.
The beach was unusually deserted that afternoon, because of a railway excursion which had attracted many people to the neighboring city. Weezy, sitting and gazing down into the restless green water, while she waited in vain for a nibble, began to grow sleepy. Suddenly Harry shouted boisterously,—
“I’ve caught a fish, Weezy! Oh, oh! I’ve caught a fish!”
Weezy was at once broad awake.
“Have you, Harry? Oh, have you? Let me pull him in.”
She spoke a second too late. Harry had given the line a quick jerk toward her, and the next thing she knew a wriggling sculpin was flapping its slimy scales right in her face.
“Ugh! Ugh! Take it away, Harry!” she cried, dropping her own line, and beating the fish back with both hands. “Oh, take the horrid”—
She never finished the sentence. At the last word she lost her balance, and toppled headlong into the ocean.
CHAPTER VI
FISHING FOR WEEZY
Weezy’s fall had been to Harry like the rushing of a meteor across the sky. He had seen a swiftly moving mass of gilt and blue dart past him and vanish, and the next thing he knew he was standing alone upon the wharf.