eks; his
blotched body, adorned with wicked spines, tapered slimly off to an
inconspicuous tail.

"Horn-pout! Toad sculpin! Bah! Get out!"

Jim slat the fish disgustedly off, and he sculled slowly downward. Two
more bare hooks. Then three hake in succession, the largest not over
five pounds. On the next line hung a writhing, twisting shape about
eighteen inches long. With a wry face Jim held the thing up for Percy's
inspection.

"Slime eel! He's tied the ganging into knots and thrown off his jacket.
Look here!"

He stripped from the line a handful of tough, stringy slime like a mass
of soft soap.

"How's that for an overcoat! They always throw it off when they get hung
up on a trawl."

Flinging the stuff away with a grimace, he rinsed his hand and cut off
the ganging with his knife.

"No use trying to unhook that fellow!"

Fathom after fathom of trawl came in over the roller. The flapping,
dying heap in the center of the dory enlarged steadily. Jim was
spattered with scales from head to foot, and drenched with water from
the splashing tails. He stopped for a moment to rest.

[Illustration]

"Now you see what oil-clothes are good for," said he. "I'll give you
your chance in a little while."

Percy had kept the _Barracouta_ near by as Jim pulled the dory along
the trawl. He could watch the process very well from the sloop, and he
was by no means anxious for a personal experience with it. It looked too
much like hard work. He made no reply to Jim's offer.

Refreshed by his rest, the latter resumed hauling. Up came a little
cluster of yellow plums, as large as small walnuts, each on a stem six
inches long, attached to a brownish bunch of roots.

"Nigger-heads! Always grow on rocky bottom; nicest kind of place for
fish. Trawl must have run over a patch of ledge. We're likely to pick up
something here besides hake. What's this?"

A heavy fish appeared, hanging motionless on the next ganging. Jim gave
a shout.

"Haddock! Twelve-pounder. Swallowed the hook and worried himself to
death. Drowned!"

"Drown a fish!" jeered Percy.

"Sure you can, any kind of fish, if you only keep his mouth open. If
this fellow hadn't taken the bait in so deep he'd have been liable to
break away. Fishermen call 'em 'butter-mouths,' their flesh is so
tender; under jaw's the only place where a hook will hold to lift 'em
by. See his red lips, and that black streak down each side. And look at
these two black spots, big as silver