"Let 's catch a mess of
fish for dinner, and then turn in and make up for the sleep we lost last
night. What d' you say?"
They made a race to clamber aboard, but Joe was shoved over the side again.
When he finally did arrive, the other lad had brought to light a pair of
heavily leaded, large-hooked lines and a mackerel-keg of salt sardines.
"Bait," he said. "Just shove a whole one on. They 're not a bit partic'lar.
Swallow the bait, hook and all, and go--that 's their caper. The fellow
that does n't catch the first fish has to clean 'em."
Both sinkers started on their long descent together, and seventy feet of
line whizzed out before they came to rest. But at the instant his sinker
touched the bottom Joe felt the struggling jerks of a hooked fish. As
he began to haul in he glanced at 'Frisco Kid and saw that he too had
evidently captured a finny prize. The race between them was exciting.
Hand over hand the wet lines flashed inboard. But 'Frisco Kid was more
expert, and his fish tumbled into the cockpit first. Joe's followed an
instant later--a three-pound rock-cod. He was wild with joy. It was
magnificent--the largest fish he had ever landed or ever seen landed.
Over went the lines again, and up they came with two mates of the ones
already captured. It was sport royal. Joe would certainly have continued
till he had fished the bay empty, had not 'Frisco Kid persuaded him
to stop.
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