The lone fisherman was standing up in his boat. He was pulling in a hand line, yards and yards of it. To Florence, who waited breathlessly, the line seemed endless. And yet, when the end did come it was with sudden shock, for the fish seemed immense.
“A whopper!” she exclaimed. “A regular whale. Katie, we’re going out there! We must!”
“Might be too far,” Katie suggested half-heartedly. She, too, was a born fisherman.
“He’s there,” Florence argued. “His boat is no larger than ours.”
“Motor boat.” Katie suggested. For all her protests she was not turning back. Instead she was heading straight out over the blue-black surface of Superior.
“A mile,” Florence thought with a sudden intake of breath, “a mile from anywhere.”
She thought of the Wanderer tied up there at the dock in Tobin’s Harbor, of Dave and all the rest. All that seemed dreamy and far away. What did it matter today?
Had she but known it, today had but begun and what a day it was to be!
It was with a feeling almost of guilt that she sat there watching the waves pass them one by one. With an all but silent swish, each seemed to whisper a warning.
“I won’t hear,” she told them defiantly. “Five Foot and big fish.”