“If you insist, I suppose I’ll have to,” laughed George and dropping the spoon overboard he let the line run out.
“How much line do I need?” he asked.
“Oh, about fifty or sixty feet I should think,” said Grant.
“Well, I don’t know much about it,” remarked John breaking in on the conversation; “but it doesn’t seem to me that we are making enough headway to keep that metal spoon from sinking.”
“I’m afraid not myself,” agreed Grant. “The wind seems to be dying down all the time and we’ll be becalmed if we’re not careful.”
“I’ll try it a few minutes anyway,” said George. “I might get something.”
“All you’ll get is sunburned, I guess,” laughed Fred. “You’d better put your clothes on or you’ll be blistered to-morrow.”
“That’s right, Pop,” said Grant. “I’d get dressed if I were you.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” George agreed. “Here, String, you take the rod.”
Scarcely had John taken the rod in his hands when he felt a violent tug at the line. The reel sang shrilly and then was still.