“He—he’s hooked fair!” she panted. “And the line is stout, stout as a cowboy’s lariat. We—we’ll get him! We’ll get him!”
Once again her splendid muscles worked in perfect time as she reeled in yard after yard of the stout line.
This time she fancied she caught a glimpse of a dark shadow in the water before a second mad rush all but tore rod and reel from her grasp.
“Florence! Let the old thing go!” Jeanne’s tone was sober, almost pleading. “Think what a monster he must he! Might be a sea-horse or—or a crocodile.”
“This,” said Florence, laughing grimly, “is Michigan, not Florida. There are no alligators here.”
Once again she had the fish under control and was reeling in with a fierce and savage delight. “He’s coming. Got to come. Now! Now! Now!”
CHAPTER IV
CAPTIVATING PHANTOM
The music to which Greta listened was unfamiliar. “Is it a song?” she whispered, “or an evening prayer? Who can have written it? Perhaps no one. It may have come direct from heaven.”
She could not believe it. Someone was playing that violin. Real fingers touched those strings. She longed to search them out, to come before that mysterious person of great enchantment and whisper, “Teach me!”
Ah yes, but which way should she go? Already the shades of night were falling.