Ford saw the white flesh of the clam coming slowly up through the water, and he held his breath; for just behind and below it was a sprawling shadowy something that was tugging with all its might at that tough shell-fish.
"It's an awful big one!"
"Shall I scoop him?"
"No, indeed: I want to scoop him myself. I saw how you did it."
Splash went the net, as the prize came nearer the surface; and Ford began, somewhat excitedly, to shake it all over the bottom of the boat.
"Why, where's that crab? You don't mean to say he was quick enough to dodge away?"
"Quick? well, no, that isn't just the trouble. I forgot to tell you to scoop way under him. You hit him, square, and knocked him ever so far. The water deceives your eyes. Drive the net under him quick, and then lift. I've got one—now just you see how I scoop."
Ford felt dreadfully disappointed over the loss of his first crab, but the rapidity with which he caught the "knack of it" after that was a great credit to him. He did not miss the next one he pulled up.
It was great fun; but it had its slack moments, and in one of these Dab suddenly exclaimed,—
"The young black rascal! If he hasn't gone and got a sheep's-head!"