"Mullet working that fashion, you never want to run," Charley explained. "Fishermen have a saying: 'Never fish jumping mullet.' When mullet are schooled up they do not jump high because of injuring others in their fall. That patting sound you hear is the flipping of their tails above water."
Keyed up to the highest pitch our three fishermen waited the coming of the steadily advancing multitude.
"Pass me the end of your net, Captain," Charley at last directed, in a voice that trembled with excitement.
All ready with oars dipped he waited, waited until even in the darkness Walter could see the advancing school coming, bearing a tiny wave before them. Nearer crept the wave, fifty feet, thirty feet, twenty feet, then—"Go!" Charley shouted, and the boats, driven by the strength of excitement, leaped in amongst the frightened school. Around them the water boiled and foamed with the frightened fish. They struck the sides of the skiffs like hailstones on a tin roof. They battered against the dipped oars making them vibrate like an electric current.
Charley held on his course as long as he dared before giving the signal to close up. When they came together, the end of his net barely crossed over Walter's.
"I came near losing them all by being too greedy," he panted. "A few feet more and my net would not have reached you and they would have poured out of the gap like quicksilver. Well, I guess we've got enough for our breakfast, all right."
"How many do you think we've got?" Walter questioned, eagerly.
"Wait and see," Charley laughed. "Come on and let's get drummed up good and start picking up as quick as we can. I fancy we've got plenty of work ahead of us."
The drumming finished, they rowed back to the ends of their nets. Walter leaned over and dragged his aboard, then gave a shout of delight. "They are sticking in it like pins in a pin cushion," he shouted.