“That would have beaten Joe’s, if you’d got him,” he said, grinning.
“I’ll beat you, if you try that trick again,” exclaimed Joe Hinman, eying Tim sharply.
The fish began coming in lively, from little harbour pollock to sculpins with monster heads and attenuated bodies, and cunners, that stole the bait almost as fast as the boys could throw overboard.
“Everything counts,” said Henry Burns, as he drew in a huge skate; and added, as he took the hook out of the fish’s capacious mouth, “Wonder how Old Witham would have liked him for a boarder.”
“Hello!” exclaimed Harvey, “here comes another boat; and it looks like Squire Brackett in the stern.”
“Yes, and it’s young Harry, rowing,” said Arthur Warren. “First time I’ve seen him working, this summer.”
The squire and his son were, indeed, coming out to the fishing-grounds.
“Something new for the squire to be doing his own fishing,” remarked Arthur Warren. “He must be saving money.”
“Well, we ought to salute him, anyway,” said Henry Burns. “Say, fellows, one, two, three, all together, ‘How d’ye do, squire,’ just as he comes abreast.”
The chorus that greeted Squire Brackett made him jump up in his seat.