"What time is it?"
"Half-past nine."
"Well, that's just about what I'd figured. I've been fishin' in
this 'hole' for something like forty years, off and on, and I've
found out that these here sunfish get through breakfast at exactly
eighteen minutes past nine. I always allow about ten minutes' leeway
in case one or two of 'em might have been out late the night before
or something,--but as a general thing they're pretty dog-goned
prompt for breakfast. Specially in August. Even a fish is lazy in
August. Look at that fish-worm. By gosh, it's BOILED! That shows
you how hot the water is."
He removed the worm from the hook and slowly began to twist the
pole in the more or less perfunctory process of "winding up" the
line. The young man looked on disinterestedly.
"Ain't you going to untangle that line?" inquired the old man,
jerking his thumb.
"What's the use? The worm is dead by this time, and God knows
I prefer to let him rest in peace. The quickest way to untangle a
line is to do it like this."
He severed it with his pocket-knife.
"A line like that costs twenty-five cents," said the old man, a
trace of dismay in his voice.
"That's what it cost when it was new," drawled the other. "You
forget it's been a second-hand article since eight o'clock this
morning,--and what's a second-hand fish-line worth?--tell me that.
How much would you give, in the open market, or at an auction sale,
for a second-hand fish-line?"
"I guess we'd better be gittin' back to the house," said the other,
ignoring the question.
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