“He’s beat!” cried Michelle. “Easy, miss, easy. Have to gaff him, sir.”
“All right. What’s the matter with him?”
“Hooked foul, sir. Ah!” And, amidst splash and laughter, and much water over Rose, the prey was hers.
“What does he weigh?”
Carington took the spring-scale. “How is it, Michelle?”
“Thirty-eight pounds, miss, and a beauty. A half-hour we was, I guess.”
“I congratulate you. Are you tired?”
“Tired? No, I am exhausted. I really don’t think I can fish any more. Won’t you?”
“Suppose we pole up a mile or so, to the upper pool. I’ll cast a little, and then we can drop down and meet Mr. Lyndsay.”
“Certainly. I, at least, am satisfied.”