TALES OF FISHES 



we must either run them down or run too close. 

 My spirit sank to zero. Something presaged bad 

 luck. I sensed disaster. I fought the feeh'ng, but 

 it persisted. Captain Dan swore. My brother 

 shouted warnings from over us where he sat on top. 

 But we ran right into the leaders. The school sank. 

 I was sick and furious. 



"Jump your bait! It's not too late," called Dan. 



I did so. Smash! The water seemed to curl 

 white and smoke. A tuna had my bait. I jerked. 

 I felt him. He threw the hook. Half the bait re- 

 mained upon it. Smash! A great boil and splash! 

 Another tuna had that. I tried to jerk. But both 

 kite and tuna pulling made my effort feeble. This 

 one also threw out the hook. It came out with a 

 small piece of mangled red flying-fish still hanging 

 to it. Instinctively I jumped that remains of my 

 bait over the surface. Smash! The third tuna 

 cleaned the hook. 



Captain Dan waxed eloquent and profane. 



My brother said, "What do you know about that?" 



As for myself, I was stunned one second and 

 dazzled the next. Three strikes on one bait! It 

 seemed disaster still clogged my mind, but what 

 had already happened was new and wonderful. 

 Half a mile below us I saw the angler still fighting 

 the tuna he had hooked. I wanted him to get it, 

 but I hoped he would be aU afternoon on the job. 



"Hurry, Cap!" was all I said. 



Ordinarily Dan is the swiftest of boatmen. To- 

 day he was slower than molasses and all he did went 

 wrong. What he said about the luck was more than 

 melancholy. I had no way to gauge my own feel- 



232 



