“Pretty cove you are, to find fault wi’ me,” retorted Bob, “w’en you’re far wuss wi’ your haitches—a-droppin’ of ’em w’en you shouldn’t ought to, an’ stickin’ of ’em in where you oughtn’t should to. Go along an’ cut your stick, as master told you.”
The sticks were cut, pieces of string were measured off, and hooks attached thereto. Then grasshoppers were caught, impaled, and dropped into a pool. The immediate result was almost electrifying to lads who had never caught even a minnow before. Bobby’s hook had barely sunk when it was seized and run away with so forcibly as to draw a tremendous “Hi! hallo!! ho!!! I’ve got ’im!!!” from the fisher.
“Hoy! hurroo!!” responded Tim, “so’ve I!!!”
Both boys, blazing with excitement, held on.
The fish, bursting, apparently, with even greater excitement, rushed off.
“He’ll smash my stick!” cried Bob.
“The twine’s sure to go!” cried Tim. “Hold o–o–on!”
This command was addressed to his fish, which leaped high out of the pool and went wriggling back with a heavy splash. It did not obey the order, but the hook did, which came to the same thing.
“A ten-pounder if he’s a’ ounce,” said Tim.
“You tell that to the horse—hi ho! stop that, will you?”