From a Photograph.
"Most certainly; but you would waste your powder and shot. The dolphin would sink at once, taking away to the depths of the ocean both your bullet and your five-franc premium. No; you must aim squarely at the belly. Otherwise——Dear me!"
At that very moment the dolphin jumped clear out of the waves quite close to us. Swift as lightning Desmond aimed at the flying monster, shining in the sunlight about a hundred yards ahead, and pulled trigger.
"Well done! A splendid shot!" I shouted enthusiastically, as the bullet took effect and the dolphin disappeared.
"It was too splendid!" grumbled Desmond.
Without another word he jumped into the dinghy, towing astern, where the boy was already waiting for him, a harpoon in his hand.
"Keep an eye upon it as soon as it comes up," he shouted to me, as he scrambled for an oar.
"There it is! I see it, bleeding!" I cried. The wounded dolphin had reappeared a short distance away, the foam of the waves around being tinted red with its life-blood. Pointing out the right direction to the pair in the boat, I shouted a few remarks after them.
"I should say it is sinking. Make haste! Dépêchez-vous! It is turning over on its back; I see only its white underside. Quick! Quick!"
"Malheur de ma vie!" I heard Desmond groaning in despair.