“Better stop and drop in a line here, squire,” said George Warren, good-naturedly. “We’ve got them tolled around, with so many baits out.” And he demonstrated his remark by pulling out a big cunner. “Bah!” ejaculated the squire. “I should think you would scare all the fish between here and the cape, with your confounded racket.” The squire directed his son, and the latter rowed past the other boats and tied up, at length, at a spar buoy, with red and black horizontal stripes, which marked a ledge in the middle of a channel. “We’ll get a mess of cunners about these rocks,” the squire remarked, as he and Harry made ready. Luck in fishing, always capricious, seemed to have deserted the boat in which were Harvey’s crew, although the boys in the other two boats continued to pull in the fish at intervals. “Let’s give it up,” said Joe Hinman, at length, winding in his line and removing a clam-head. “What do you say to going down now and hauling the lobster-pots? We’ll take down our fish, and some from the other boat, to bait them up with.” “Guess we might as well,” said George Baker, reluctantly. “We can’t catch up with the other fellows now.” So they drew up alongside of the _Viking’s_ tender, and the boys threw their catch into the crew’s boat. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven,” counted Henry Burns, as the last one went over. “Keep that score in mind, George, when we come to reckon up. Tom’s ahead in our boat. He’s caught ten of them. But we want to see which boat wins, too.” The crew rowed away, down alongshore. An hour and a half later, the boys in both boats stopped fishing, to reckon up their catch. “Tom’s got nineteen fish,” called out Henry Burns. “It’s a tie,” cried young Joe, excitedly. “I’ve got just nineteen.” “Then we’ll give you each five minutes more,” said Harvey, pulling out a silver watch. “Say when you’re ready to throw overboard, fellows.” Tom and young Joe baited up for the final effort, and the lines went out together. They waited expectantly. Two, three, four minutes went by, without a bite. “Guess they’ll need five minutes more,” said Henry Burns. But the words were hardly uttered before young Joe gave a whoop, and began hauling in vigorously. “I’ve won!” he shouted. “No, you haven’t,” cried Tom, pulling in rapidly, hand over hand. “You’re just within the time-limit,” said Harvey, as Tom’s fish came in over the gunwale. “It’s another tie; you’ll have to try it over again.” “All right,” said young Joe. “I got mine first, though—No, hold on here. Hooray! I’ve won, after all.” Young Joe, who had been in the act of disengaging his bait from the mouth of a sculpin, stopped suddenly, and made a grimace of delight. “Pull up the anchor, George,” he said to his eldest brother. “Let’s row alongside the other boat, and I’ll prove that I win.” George Warren looked at Joe’s catch, and laughed. “I guess you’re right,” he said. They rowed up to the other boat.