The fisher paid no attention to the remark, but continued to cast a little lower down stream each time.
“You’re gettin’ near the bit now,” said Junkie, in the tone of one whose expectations are awakened.
“Th–there! That’s him!”
“Ay, and a good one, too,” exclaimed Jackman, as a fan-like tail disappeared with a heavy splash. Again the fisher cast, with the same result.
“He’s only playin’ wi’ the fly,” said Junkie in a tone of disappointment.
“That’s often the way—no!—th–there! Got ’im!”
The rod bent like a hoop at that moment; the reel spun round to its own merry music, as the line flew out, and the fish finished its first wild rush with a leap of three feet into the air.
“Hooray!” yelled Junkie, now fairly aflame, as he jumped like the fish, flourished the big hook round his head, and gaffed Quin by the lappet of his coat!
“Have a care, you spalpeen,” shouted the Irishman, grasping the excited youngster by the collar and disengaging himself from the hook. “Sure it might have been me nose as well as me coat, an’ a purty objec’ that would have made me!”
Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who was struggling skilfully with the fish.