He didn’t reply to the salutation, but glared at the boys, angrily.
“Always up to their monkey-shines!” he muttered. “I’ll teach ’em to have respect for me, some day yet.”
“Better stop and drop in a line here, squire,” said George Warren, good-naturedly. “We’ve got them tolled around, with so many baits out.”
And he demonstrated his remark by pulling out a big cunner.
“Bah!” ejaculated the squire. “I should think you would scare all the fish between here and the cape, with your confounded racket.”
The squire directed his son, and the latter rowed past the other boats and tied up, at length, at a spar buoy, with red and black horizontal stripes, which marked a ledge in the middle of a channel.
“We’ll get a mess of cunners about these rocks,” the squire remarked, as he and Harry made ready.
Luck in fishing, always capricious, seemed to have deserted the boat in which were Harvey’s crew, although the boys in the other two boats continued to pull in the fish at intervals.
“Let’s give it up,” said Joe Hinman, at length, winding in his line and removing a clam-head. “What do you say to going down now and hauling the lobster-pots? We’ll take down our fish, and some from the other boat, to bait them up with.”
“Guess we might as well,” said George Baker, reluctantly. “We can’t catch up with the other fellows now.”