Of a sudden the reel ran out a little.
“Poor young man! Sit down. Keep the tip up, so.”
The fly had been tranquilly taken under water, this time with no show of indecision. Rose obeyed the advice, and for a moment sat expectant, the rod well bent. The delay on the part of the salmon was so great that she could not understand it.
“It must be fast on something. It doesn’t move.”
“No, the young man isn’t quite sure as to what is the matter. He is reflecting. Are Cupid’s arrows barbed, my dear? There!”
“Oh!”—for the reel ran out so fast as to make a distinct musical note, and, in a moment, Rose saw the salmon flash high in the air near the farther bank.
“That can’t be my young man.”
“Yes. Reel, reel quick.”
Meanwhile it was up anchor and away, the instant the fish struck. The men shared Rose’s excitement, and watched the quick movements of the fish with admirable understanding of when to wait or to follow. The rapid reeling in Rose found hard work.
“I do think you must take the rod,” she said.