As It Was in the Beginning

by Philip Verrill Mighels

"What's the use of going to school?" was Grenville's query, his eyes as bright as a boy's. "The next one may be a whale."

The next one, however, was a long time coming. When it was hooked, the wise fisherman knew it was small, and, most unexpectedly, he delivered the line to Elaine.

"Now, then, give him the dickens!" he instructed. "You want to make him think he's struck by lightning."

Surprised as she was, and unprepared for this particular favor, Elaine did her best, and hauled in valiantly, but the captive got away.

Five or six casts were made after that before the hook was once more nibbled. Grenville was rather inclined to change for a spot more popular with the purple water's tribe. Yet he made another of his longest throws, and had drawn in much of the dripping line when a clean young tortoise so deeply swallowed the hook that he could not have spat it out to save him.

The fight he offered was tremendous. He dived and skittered through the crystal tides like some giant saucer of dynamics. Whole lines of the brightest silver bubbles arose as he visibly flapped about and scuttled towards the bottom. The line raced wildly here and there, cutting the waves with the sound of something hot and sizzling.

But it held for a full half hour of fighting. It was strong enough for the weight of a man, as Grenville afterward declared. It conquered the tortoise finally, and drew him up, but not before he had wearied the fisherman's muscles and greatly fatigued Elaine, who was panting with sheer excitement.

"There you are," said Grenville, boyishly exultant, "he's wash basin, comb, a few hairpins, and what-not, all in one, not to mention turtle soup."

There was no more fishing done that afternoon, nor were knitting needles carved. What with his turtle, his fish, the digging of several yams, and the making of his bomb, Grenville was amply employed.

Elaine was at length made acquainted with his programme for the night. She made no effort to dissuade him from his purpose, but excitement rose in her bosom. She feared for what the tiger might by mischance accomplish, and, also, she felt that in some occult way her own fate and the animal's were alike, if not related—that if such a brute must helplessly succumb to the man's superior prowess, there was no chance at all for anything as feeble as herself.