He began to pull it back at once, since there might be rocks on which the hook would foul, and his labor be wholly lost. The sinker, and then the bait, emerged from the crystal depths of brine without so much as a nibble. Again Grenville sent them full length out, and again drew in with no results, save a possible inquiry, far below, where he fancied he saw a gleam of silver. The third cast fared no better than the others. But the fourth was no more than started homeward when a sharp, heavy strike was briskly reported on the line, and Grenville's jerk responded. "Oh! you've got one!--you've got one!" cried Elaine, with all the true pleasure of a sportsman. "Please, please don't let it get away!" Grenville was taking no chances on slack in the line, with his simple wooden hook. He hauled in, hand over fist, while his catch fought madly to escape. With a wild inward dash and a mighty flop, the silvery captive on the barb leaped entirely out of the water. Grenville's answering maneuver with the line, snatching up fully a yard of its length, and instantly stooping to clutch it low again, was all that saved the situation. His fish barely touched the surface, after that, then was swiftly sailing up in air. He was a beautiful specimen of his kind, but the species was new to his captor. "What's the use of going to school?" was Grenville's query, his eyes as bright as a boy's. "The next one may be a whale." The next one, however, was a long time coming. When it was hooked, the wise fisherman knew it was small, and, most unexpectedly, he delivered the line to Elaine. "Now, then, give him the dickens!" he instructed. "You want to make him think he's struck by lightning." Surprised as she was, and unprepared for this particular favor, Elaine did her best, and hauled in valiantly, but the captive got away. Five or six casts were made after that before the hook was once more nibbled. Grenville was rather inclined to change for a spot more popular with the purple water's tribe. Yet he made another of his longest throws, and had drawn in much of the dripping line when a clean young tortoise so deeply swallowed the hook that he could not have spat it out to save him. The fight he offered was tremendous. He dived and skittered through the crystal tides like some giant saucer of dynamics. Whole lines of the brightest silver bubbles arose as he visibly flapped about and scuttled towards the bottom. The line raced wildly here and there, cutting the waves with the sound of something hot and sizzling. But it held for a full half hour of fighting. It was strong enough for the weight of a man, as Grenville afterward declared. It conquered the tortoise finally, and drew him up, but not before he had wearied the fisherman's muscles and greatly fatigued Elaine, who was panting with sheer excitement.