"Have you, though?" said Josh, looking from one to the other as if it was an announcement full of interest, while the lad on the pier frowned a little at his brother's free-and-easy way. "Yes, we've come down," said Dick dreamily, for he was watching Will's busy fingers as he baited hook after hook. "I say," he cried, "what's that stuff--those bits?" "These?" said Will. "Squid." "Squid? What's squid?" Josh ceased winding the wire round his staff. "Here's a lad as don't know what squid is," he said in a tone of wondering pity. "Well, how should I know? Just you be always shut-up in London and school and see if you would." "What? Don't they teach you at school what squid is?" said Josh sharply. "No," cried the boy. "A mussy me!" said Josh in tones of disgust. "Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves." "But they don't know," said the boy impatiently. "I say, what is it?" "Cuttle-fish," said Will. "Cut-tle-fish!" cried Dick. "Oh! I know what that is--all long legs and suckers, and got an ink-bag and a pen in its body." "Yes, that's it," said Will, laughing. "We call it squid. It makes a good tough bait, that don't come off, and the fish like it." "Well, it is rum stuff," cried Dick, picking up a piece and turning it over in his fingers. "Here, Taff, look!" His brother screwed up his face with an aspect of disgust, and declined to touch the fishes' _bonne-bouche_; but he looked at it eagerly all the same. "I say, what do you catch?" said Dick, seating himself tailor-fashion on the deck opposite Will. "What? on this line? Nothing sometimes." "Oh! of course. I often go fishing up the river when we're at home, and catch nothing. But what do you catch when you have any luck?" "Lots o' things," said Josh; "skates, rays, plaice, brill, soles, john-dories, gurnets--lots of 'em--small conger, and when we're very lucky p'r'aps a turbot." "Oh! I say," cried the boy, with his eyes sparkling, "shouldn't I like to see conger too! They're whopping great chaps, arn't they, like cod-fish pulled out long?" "Well, no," said Will, "they're more like long ling; but we can't catch big ones on a line like this--only small." "But there are big ones here, arn't there?" "Oh, yes!" said Will; "off there among the rocks sometimes, six and seven foot long." "But why don't you catch big ones on a line like that?" "Line like that!" broke in Josh; "why, a conger would put his teeth through it in a moment. You're obliged to have a single line for a conger, with a wire-snooded hook and swivels, big hooks bound with wire, something like this here." As he spoke he held out the hook, just finished as to its binding on. "And what's that for?" cried the boy, taking the hook. "Gaffing of 'em," said Josh; but he pronounced it "_gahfin'_ of 'em." "Oh, I do want to go fishing!" cried the boy eagerly. "What are you going to do with that long-line?" "Lay it out in the bay," said Will, "with a creeper at each end." "A what?" "A creeper."