“Do you know,” said Florence teasingly, “I believe I have five pounds of fish? You have tried all afternoon for a five pounder, and got nothing. In life one should humbly accept that which comes, and hope for bigger things.”
“I wonder.” Tillie studied her face with tired eyes. “I wonder if that’s so, or do you win best if you insist on having only the big things?”
“I suppose,” Florence replied, “that one does that which one’s nature demands. I can’t throw a good perch away. You can’t keep one. It’s a queer old world.”
“It is!” Tillie punctuated her remark with a vigorous overhand throw that landed her minnow far out into the darkening water.
“Watch!” she exclaimed a moment later. “See that line go out! It’s a bass!”
There is nothing sweeter than the swift run of a bass before he turns his minnow and swallows it.
Zing! Tillie snapped the line. “Hooked!” she exclaimed, planting her feet far apart.
The ripples had subsided. The water was like polished steel at the surface. Yet one could see far into those mysterious depths.
“See!” she exclaimed tensely. “I’ve got him! The big one! And how meekly he comes in!”
What she said seemed true. She was reeling in rapidly. At the same time a monster of the lake, such a bass as Florence had never dreamed of, came racing toward the boat.