“Did he bite?” said Jack, urging the log onwards a little with his paddle.
“Bite? Ay! he took it into his mouth, but the moment I began to haul he opened his jaws and let it out again.”
“Let him swallow it next time,” said Jack, laughing at the melancholy expression of Peterkin’s visage.
“There he’s again!” cried Peterkin, his eyes flashing with excitement. “Look out! Now, then! No! Yes! No! Why, the brute won’t swallow it!”
“Try to haul him up by the mouth, then!” cried Jack. “Do it gently.”
A heavy sigh and a look of blank despair showed that poor Peterkin had tried and failed again.
“Never mind, lad,” said Jack in a voice of sympathy; “we’ll move on and offer it to some other fish.” So saying, Jack plied his paddle; but scarcely had he moved from the spot when a fish with an enormous head and a little body darted from under a rock and swallowed the bait at once.
“Got him this time—that’s a fact!” cried Peterkin, hauling in the line. “He’s swallowed the bait right down to his tail, I declare! Oh, what a thumper!”
As the fish came struggling to the surface we leaned forward to see it, and overbalanced the log. Peterkin threw his arms round the fish’s neck, and in another instant we were all floundering in the water!
A shout of laughter burst from us as we rose to the surface, like three drowned rats, and seized hold of the log. We soon recovered our position, and sat more warily; while Peterkin secured the fish, which had well-nigh escaped in the midst of our struggles. It was little worth having, however. But, as Peterkin remarked, it was better than the smouts he had been catching for the last two or three days; so we laid it on the log before us, and having re-baited the line, dropped it in again for another.