“No,” he cried, laughing. “I prefer not to have the responsibility of other folks’ flirtations. He won’t carry on this way very long.”
But again he was off, and this time not so far. Then he leaped twice, with mighty splashings of the water. Meanwhile Tom was carefully getting his canoe out of the heavy current, and Rose found that the salmon was slowly yielding to the steady strain of the rod. They were now near the bank, and in an eddy.
“Look sharp, Rose,” said Mr. Lyndsay. “Give him the butt.”
“What?”
“Yes. Keep the tip back and the butt forward. As the fish yields reel in a little, dropping the tip. That’s right. Now, you can lift him, as it were, by throwing the butt forward again, so. Reel! reel! Well handled.”
“He’s a-comin’,” said Tom. “He are a buster.”
She could but just perceive her fish,—a dark, shadowy thing,—a few feet away. Now he sees the man with his gaff, and is off on a short run; and again is slowly reeled in.
“Something must break,” said Rose.
“No, you can’t pull more than two pounds, my dear, do as you may. It seems to you a vast strain. There, keep his head up-stream. Well done. Let him drop back a little.”
As he spoke, Tom made a quick movement and gaffed his fish. In a moment it was in the boat, and Rose sank back delighted.