"Keep it alive and teach it to draw a little red wagon," chuckled Ikey.
"Oi, oi! That would be fine!"

"It would be as big as Dugan's goat. Don't know why it shouldn't be
tackled up and made use of," Whistler agreed, dryly.

"Only they lack feet--Gee-whillikins! what's this?" burst forth Torry.

He certainly had a bite at last. His reel hummed and the fish started
for the coast of Spain; or, at least, in that general direction.

He had to play the fish well to save his line, for the latter was
neither a very heavy one, nor new. The bass ran stubbornly out to sea.

"That's a whale, Torry," Whistler declared, breaking off in a military
tune to make the observation. "You should have harpooned it."

"I'm going to get him aboard here if I swamp the boat!" declared Torry
with vigor.

The boys were so interested in his playing the fish for the next ten
minutes that they did not cast a glance shoreward. Finally the bass was
tired out, and Torry drew him in close to the boat. Whistler leaned over
the side and, with a maul, tapped the bass on the head.

But when he got his hand in the gills of the fish they clamped down upon
his fingers, and, in the struggle, he was almost hauled out of the
boat.

"Hey! Help!" he bawled. "What are you fellows? Just passengers?"