"That's a red grouper," said the captain, sparing a glance from his own captive. "This one I've got is a black grouper. Those flat, silvery fish Chris and Walter have caught are red-mouth grunts." But the old sailor had no time for further speculations for the sport grew fast and furious. Often they pulled up to find three fish on their line at once, one on each hook.
As fast as they unhooked their captives they threw them into the forward cockpit where they soon grew into a beautiful, glistening heap of red, gold and silver hues.
For two hours they pulled the fish aboard as fast as they could bait and cast their hooks. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the fish ceased to bite.
"We might as well get up anchor and move to another place," the captain announced.
"Has we done catched dem all?" Chris inquired, innocently.
"Hardly," said the old sailor, with a laugh, "but a shark or some other sea monster is prowling around down below and has scared them all away." They weighed anchor and drifted back a couple of hundred feet upon the reef where they found the fish biting there the same as before.
"I'ze got something queer on my line," announced Chris, as he pulled up hand over hand. "Hit don't jerk none. Hit's jest heavy-like."
"A bit of coral, I expect," Charley suggested.
All stared at the curious-looking object as Chris slung it in over the side.
"Why," said Charley, as he scraped off the clinging moss and barnacles. "It's a doll, just a big, rag doll."