“It cost two dollars. And that red and white spoon cost another dollar. Shall I throw three dollars into the lake?
“Besides,” Florence began reeling in once more, “the thing’s a fish, not a snake. There are no boa constrictors in America. He’s just a big, old northern pike. Looks like a snake, that’s all.
“I—I’ll bring him in,” she panted. “You just take a good look.”
She reeled in fast. The fish, at last weary of battle, came in without a struggle and, for one full moment lay there upon the surface of the water. A magnificent specimen of his kind, he must have measured close to four feet from tip to tail. His eyes and cruel teeth gave him a savage look, but in that failing light his sleek, mottled sides were truly beautiful.
“Wolf of the waters,” Florence murmured. “Truly you do not deserve to live! If a herring, gorgeous flash of silver, passes your way, there is a mad swirl and his favorite pool knows him no more. The beautiful speckled trout and the perch fare no better. Even little baby ducklings that sport about on the surface are not safe from your cruel jaws. A swirl, a frantic quack, qua-a-ack, and he is gone forever. And yet,” she mused, “who am I that I should set myself up as a judge of wild life?”
“Florence,” Jeanne pleaded, “let him go! What do we want with him?”
“Why! Come to think of it, we couldn’t really make much use of him.” Florence laughed a merry laugh. “Must weigh twenty pounds.”
“And if you put him in the boat he might bite you,” Jeanne argued.
“Or break a leg with his tail.” Florence laughed once more.
She flipped the line. The red and white spoon shot to right and left. She did it again. The fish turned. A third time the spoon rattled. There was a swirl of white waters, then darkness closed in upon the spot where the fish had been.