"How big was mine, Mac?" I said. "Oh, no so big. Ye'd no be interested to know, I'm thinking."
"But I am," said Mac. "I always like to hear of the luck other fishermen ha' had."
"Aweel, yell be makin' me tell ye, I suppose," I said, as if verra reluctantly. "But—oh, no, Mac, dinna mak' me. I'm no wantin' to hurt yer feelings."
He laughed.
"Tell me, man," he said.
"Weel, then—twa thousand six hundred and fourteen pounds," I said.
Mac nearly fell oot o' the boat into the loch. He stared at me wi' een like saucers.
"What sort of a fish was that, ye muckle ass?" he roared.
"Oh, just a bit whale," I said, modestly. "Nowt to boast aboot. He gied me a battle, I'll admit, but he had nae chance frae the first——"
And then we both collapsed and began to roar wi' laughter. And we agreed that we'd tell no fish stories to one another after that, but only to others, and that we'd always mak' the other fellow tell the size of his fish before we gave the weighing of ours. That's the only safe rule for a fisherman who's telling of his catch, and there's a tip for ye if ye like.