Billy was landed, and a large basket in which the salmon had been brought down to the boat, was landed also—empty; and Murphy, lifting the basket as if it contained a considerable weight, placed it on Billy's head, and the sly young rascal bent beneath it, as if all the fish Murphy had pretended to take were really in it; and he went on his homeward way, with a tottering step, as if the load were too much for him.
"That boy," said Furlong, "will never be able to cawwy all those fish to the house."
"Oh, they won't be too much for him," said Dick. "Curse the fish! I wish they'd bite. That thief, Murphy, has had all the sport; but he's the best fisherman in the county, I'll own that."
The two boats all this time had been drifting down the river, and on opening a new reach of the stream, a somewhat extraordinary scene of fishing presented itself. It was not like Murphy's fishing, the result of a fertile invention, but the consequence of the evil destiny which presided over all the proceedings of Handy Andy. The fishing-party in the boats beheld another fishing-party on shore, with this difference in the nature of what they sought to catch, that while they in the boats were looking for salmon, those on shore were seeking for a post-chaise; and as about a third part of a vehicle so called was apparent above the water, Furlong exclaimed with extreme surprise—
"Well, if it ain't a post-chaise!"
"Oh! that's nothing extraordinary," said Dick; "common enough here."
"How do you mean?"
"We've a custom here of running steeple-chases in post-chaises."
"Oh, thank you," said Furlong. "Come, that's too good."
"You don't believe it, I see," said Dick. "But you did not believe the salmon-fishing till you saw it."