“Lemme have that broken broomstick,” said Bob, grabbing it. “Now watch—when he snaps at me.”
The huge fish, lying on its side, with its wicked eye watchful of us all, opened wide his jaws when Bob Promise approached. The bully was a reckless fellow, and as the shark snapped open his jaws he thrust his hand and arm into the cavity and thrust the stick upright, far back in the beast’s throat.
Thank actually screamed aloud, and I felt sick—I thought sure the foolish fellow’s arm would be snapped off between the closing jaws.
But the shark couldn’t close his jaws! That was the trick of it. The stick was thrust upright, sticking into the roof of the great mouth and into the root of the tongue. The fish was “belled” indeed.
There it writhed upon the deck, thrashing its strong tail about, its wicked eyes rolling, and evidently in awful agony.
“Now pitch him overboard,” laughed Bob Promise. “He’ll live some time that way—mebbe till he starves to death or until some of the smaller fish pitch upon him and eat his liver out. Ugh! the ugly beast!”
Somebody took a turn of the rope around the fish’s tail and in a moment the shark was swung up by the falls we had rigged. But while he hung in the air and was about to be swung over the rail, Phillis ran up to us.
“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t do it! I saw you! How could you be so dreadfully mean—Oh! Clint! how could you do such a cruel thing?”
I had been thinking all the time that it was a blamed mean piece of business; but I hadn’t had the pluck to say so!
“You stand away, Missee,” laughed Bob. “He’s all right. Overboard he goes—plop into the sea—and it will be one murderin’ old shark fixed jest right.”