"Not it. That tough skin closes up round the hook, and you would almost have to cut it to get it over the barb. It makes a capital bait to stick on, but of course it isn't half so attractive as a bit of a bright silvery fish. I'll change it as soon as I can. I wish we had got one of those big silvered spoons. I think father's got two or three. I will go and ask him if you don't soon get a--" "Oh! Poole! Here! Help! I--I can't--Oh, he's gone!" panted the middy. For all at once his right arm received a violent jerk, and as the line was twisted round his hand he was dragged sideways, and but for Poole's ready help would have been pulled off the chair helplessly on to the deck. Fortunately for him the skipper's son was on the _qui vive_, and stopping the convalescent's progress with one hand, he made a snatch at the line with the other. "He's too much for you," cried Poole. "Here, shake your hand clear of the line. I've got him. That's the way. Has it hurt you?" "It seemed to cut right into the skin," panted Fitz. "He must be a monster. Oh, whatever you do, don't let him go!" "No, I won't let him go," was the reply; "not if I can help it. He is a pretty good size. We will make a double job of it. Here, I'll haul him in a few feet, and then you can take hold in front of me, and we will haul him in together. No, he won't come yet. I shall have to let him run a little--I mean, we shall have to let him run a little. Now then, foot by foot. Let's let the line run through our hands." This was done steadily and slowly, till another fifty yards of line had been given, the fish that had been hooked darting the while here and there, and at a tremendous rate, and displaying enormous strength for a creature of its size. But it had to contend not only with the drag kept up by the boys, but the motion of the schooner as well, with the result that its strength soon began to fail, till at last it was drawn behind the gliding schooner almost inert. "There," cried Poole; "now I think we might have him in. I was afraid to haul before for fear of dragging the hook out of its jaws. Look at that now!" he cried impatiently. "What's the matter? Don't say he has gone!" "Oh no, he's not gone. Why, he is making a fresh dash for his liberty. But we can't lift him in by the hook, and I never thought about getting a gaff.--Here, hi!" he cried. "Come here, Chips!" One of the sailors sidled up--a dry-looking, quaint man with a wrinkled face, who broke out into a smile as he saw what was going on. "Fish, sir?" he said, and his hand made a movement toward his cap. "Want me to fetch my bag of tools?" "Yes," cried Poole. "I mean, get that long-handled gaff from down below." "Right, sir," and the man trotted off, leaving the two lads slowly and steadily hauling in yard after yard of the line. "Still fast on, sir?" cried the man to Fitz, as he stood what looked like a highly-educated boat-hook against the rail.