"Say, Charley," he hailed, "there's lots of fish around here."
"I see them," came the cheerful answer. "They don't look right to me, though. Let's go on a bit."
Sullenly, Walter rowed on in silence. After what to his tired muscles seemed ages of weary pulling, a crisp order came floating over the water.
"Get ready—Drop your net weight over"—A pause, then: "All right—all together—pull hard."
Walter forgot his aching limbs in the excitement of the moment. He bent to his oars and sent his skiff flying through the water while his net rippled swiftly out over the stern.
"Come together," at last came the order and he swung his flying craft around to meet his chum's.
"Gee," panted Charley, as he crossed the end of Walter's net, just as the last of his own ran out. "I pulled myself out of breath trying to get around that school. Most of them outran me, but I guess we have got a few penned up in the circle. Put up your lantern and let's rest a bit before we drum up. Good," he exclaimed as the lights flashed out over the water. "They are hitting the nets already—-Listen."
From all sides of them came a soft peculiar smacking sound much like that made by a person opening and closing his mouth rapidly.
"Listen, old chap," Charley cried in glee, "you are hearing your first catch of mullet."