en that my knees were wabbling, my feet puttering
around, my whole lower limbs shaking as if I had the palsy. I had lost
control of my lower muscles. It was funny; it was ridiculous. It showed
just what was my state of excitement.

The kite fluttered down to the water. The kite-line had not broken off,
and this must add severely to the strain on the fish. Not only had I
stopped the tuna, but soon I had him coming up, slowly yet rather
easily. He was directly under the boat. When I had all save about one
hundred feet of line wound in the tuna anchored himself and would not
budge for fifteen minutes. Then again rather easily he was raised fifty
more feet. He acted like any small, hard-fighting fish.

"I've hooked a little one," I began. "That big fellow missed the bait,
and a small one grabbed it."

Dan would not say so, but he feared just that. What miserable black
luck! Almost I threw the rod and reel overboard. Some sense, however,
prevented me from such an absurdity. And as I worked the tuna closer and
closer I grew absolutely sick with disappointment. The only thing to do
was to haul this little fish in and go hunt up the school. So I pumped
and pulled. That half-hour seemed endless and bad business altogether.
Anger possessed me and I began to work harder. At this juncture
Shorty's boat appeared close to us. Shorty and Adams waved me
congratulations, and then made motions to Dan to get the direction of
the school of tuna. That night both Shorty and Adams told me that I was
working very hard on the fish, too hard to save any strength for a long
battle.

[Illustration: A BLUE-FINNED PLUGGER OF THE DEEP--138-POUND TUNA]

[Illustration: AVALON, THE BEAUTIFUL]

Captain Dan watched the slow, steady bends of my rod as the tuna
plugged, and at last he said, "Doc, it's a big fish!"

Strange to relate, this did not electrify me. I did not believe it. But
at the end of that half-hour the tuna came clear to the surface, about
one hundred feet from us, and there he rode the swells. Doubt folded his
sable wings! Bronze and blue and green and silver flashes illumined the
swells. I plainly saw that not only was the tuna big, but he was one of
the long, slim, hard-fighting species.

Presently he sounded, and I began to work. I was fresh, eager, strong,
and I meant to whip him quickly. Working on a big tuna is no joke. It is
a man's job. A tuna fights on his side, with head down, and he never
stops. If the angler rests the