'Oh, that's nothing—there, let him go!—give him his own way!—now, reel in a bit—quicker—quicker—that'll do, now.'
As soon as she had got the proper strain on the fish again, she held out her right hand.
'Pull off my glove, please,' she said—but still with her eyes intent on the whirling waves.
Well, he unbuttoned the long gauntlet—though the leather was all saturated with water; but when he tried the fingers, he could not get them to yield at all; so he had to pull down the gauntlet over the hand, and haul off the glove by main force—then he put it in his pocket, for there was no time to waste on ceremony.
There was a sudden steady pull on the rod; and away went the reel.
'Let him go—let him go—ah, a good fish, and a clean fish too! I hope he'll tire himself out there, before we bring him in among the stones.'
Moreover, the gale was abating somewhat, though the big waves still kept chasing each other in and springing high on the rocks. She became more eager about getting the fish. Hitherto, she had been rather excited and bewildered, and intent only on doing what she was bid; now the prospect of really landing the salmon had become joyful.
'But how shall we ever get him to come in here?' she said.
'He's bound to come, if the tackle holds; and I'm thinking he's well hooked, or he'd been off ere now, with all this scurrying water.'
She shifted the rod to her right hand; her left arm was beginning to feel the continued strain.