Part 20 (1/2)
As the day advanced the heat became overpowering, and, to escape from the glare of the sun for a little, the fisher took shelter under some very tall bracken on the bank near a deep pool. In order to secure a slight feeling of pleasurable expectation while resting, he put on a bait-cast, dropped the worm into the deepest part of the pool, propped up his rod with several stones, and then lay down to watch. The turf happened to be soft and level. As a natural consequence the tired man fell sound asleep.
”What's to be done noo, Junkie?”
”I don't know, Tonal'.”
To make matters more exasperating, at that moment the rod began to bend and the reel to spin jerkily.
”A fus.h.!.+” exclaimed Donald.
”Looks like it,” returned his friend drily.
”I better gee a yell an' wauken him,” suggested Donald.
”Ye'd better no',” said Junkie, shaking his fist.
”Yonder iss the end o' yer bonnet stickin' oot o' his pooch, what-e-ver,” said Donald.
”You'd better lie low an' keep still,” said Junkie; and, without further explanation of his intentions, he went softly down the bank and crept towards the sleeper, taking advantage of every stone and root and bush as he went along. Really, for a first attempt, it was worthy of the child of a p.a.w.nee brave.
MacRummle was a heavy sleeper, so Junkie had no difficulty in recovering his cap. Putting it on, he returned the way he had come.
”That wa.s.s cliver, man,” said the admiring Donald, when his friend rejoined him.
Junkie accepted the compliment with a dignified smile, and then sat down to wait; but it was a severe trial of patience to both of them, for the old man slept steadily on, and even snored. He seemed, in short, to have fairly gone to bed for the night.
”What say ye to bomb stanes at 'um?” suggested Donald.
”An' kill 'im, maybe,” returned Junkie, with sarcasm in his eye.
”Heave divits at 'um, then.”
”Ay; that's better.”
Accordingly, the two urchins tore up a ma.s.s of turf which was much too heavy to heave.
”Let's row'd,” suggested the active-minded Donald.
As this also met the approval of Junkie, they carried the ”divit,” or ma.s.s of turf, to the bank just above the sleeper, and, taking a careful aim, let it go. The bank was not regular. A lump diverted the divit from its course, and it plunged into the pool, to the obvious discomposure of the fish, which was still at intervals tugging at the line. Another divit was tried, but with similar result. A third clod went still further astray. The bombardment then became exciting, as every kind of effort does when one begins to realise the beneficial effect of practice.
”I can see how it is,” whispered Junkie, as he carefully ”laid” the next gun. ”If we keep more to the right, it'll hit that lump o' gra.s.s, glance into the hollow, and--”
He stopped abruptly, and both boys stood in crab-like att.i.tudes of expectation, ready to fly, for the divit took the exact course thus indicated, and bounding down the bank, hit MacRummle fair on his broad back.
The guilty ones dived like rabbits into the bracken.
”Bless me!” exclaimed the old gentleman, jumping up and shaking the dry earth off. ”This is most remarkable. I do believe I've been asleep.
But why the bank should take to crumbling down upon me is more than I can understand. Hallo! A fis.h.!.+ You don't deserve such luck, d.i.c.k, my boy.”
Winding in the line in a way which proved that the divit had done him no harm, he gave utterance to an exclamation of huge disgust as he drew an eel to the bank, with the line entangled hopelessly about its s.h.i.+ny body. This was too much for MacRummle. Unable to face the misery of disentanglement, he cut the line, despatched the eel, attached a new hook, and continued his occupation.
At the head of the pool in question the bank was so precipitous and high that the boys could see only the top of the rod swinging gracefully to and fro as the patient man pursued his sport. Suddenly the top of the rod described a wild figure in the air and disappeared. At the same moment a heavy plunge was heard.