“Tim’s got some more seaweed,” said Allan Harding. “Too bad there isn’t money in that. He’s pulled enough up alongside the boat to make us all rich.” “No, it isn’t!” cried Tim, excitedly. “Look, there’s a fish coming in—hooray! It’s a mackerel, too. See him shine.” Little Tim yanked the fish out of water, with a jerk that sent fish and mackerel-jig higher than his head. But there was no mistake about it. There was a mackerel, flopping and jumping in the bottom of the boat, glistening and gleaming, with its mingled shades of green and black and white. “Isn’t he a beauty?” exclaimed Tim, dancing about in wild excitement. “It isn’t a No. 1 size—only a ‘tinker;’ but it’s a mackerel sure enough, and they don’t come alone, these fellows. There are more. Get out the lines.” But his companions, no longer scoffing, were as excited as he. Joe Hinman had the boat up into the wind, in a twinkling. The other two boys had the sail down on the run, and furled, with a couple of stops about it, and they were drifting slowly, the next moment, with lines out on every hand. However, Little Tim proved to be more of a discoverer than prophet. The fish, if there were more of them about, were not running in large numbers. They caught a few more scattering ones, but they could see no school in sight. They stuck to it, however, till the middle of the afternoon. “They’re coming in, though,” said Joe Hinman; “and we are the only ones that know it. We haven’t the bait for much fishing, anyway; so let’s run up to harbour while the wind lasts, tell Jack and Henry Burns, and we’ll all come down here again early in the morning, before the other boats get out.” Little Tim, winding up his line reluctantly, drew one more fish in before they set sail, well-nigh going overboard in his excitement. They reached Southport Harbour about five o’clock, and ran close alongside the _Viking_, which lay at its mooring. “We’ve got something good for supper, Henry,” said Little Tim to Henry Burns, who was busily engaged cleaning up the decks of the yacht, with a broom which he dipped overboard now and then. “Better send up and invite young Joe down,” said Henry Burns, paying little attention to the new arrivals. “Jack and I are going into the tent, to eat supper with Tom and Bob.” “All right,” said young Tim. “It may be your only chance, though, to eat one of these this summer.” Henry Burns glanced up from his work at the string of six mackerel which Tim proudly displayed. Then he flung down his broom and ran to the companionway. “Jack, come out here,” he cried. “They’ve got some mackerel. They’ve come at last.” Harvey emerged hurriedly from the cabin, and gave a whoop of exultation when he saw the fish. “We want to go down first thing in the morning,” said Joe Hinman, “before any of the other boats get out. There’ll be money in the first catch, if we have any luck.”