the line
was twisted round his hand he was dragged sideways, and but for Poole's
ready help would have been pulled off the chair helplessly on to the
deck. Fortunately for him the skipper's son was on the _qui vive_, and
stopping the convalescent's progress with one hand, he made a snatch at
the line with the other.

"He's too much for you," cried Poole. "Here, shake your hand clear of
the line. I've got him. That's the way. Has it hurt you?"

"It seemed to cut right into the skin," panted Fitz. "He must be a
monster. Oh, whatever you do, don't let him go!"

"No, I won't let him go," was the reply; "not if I can help it. He is a
pretty good size. We will make a double job of it. Here, I'll haul him
in a few feet, and then you can take hold in front of me, and we will
haul him in together. No, he won't come yet. I shall have to let him
run a little--I mean, we shall have to let him run a little. Now then,
foot by foot. Let's let the line run through our hands."

This was done steadily and slowly, till another fifty yards of line had
been given, the fish that had been hooked darting the while here and
there, and at a tremendous rate, and displaying enormous strength for a
creature of its size.

But it had to contend not only with the drag kept up by the boys, but
the motion of the schooner as well, with the result that its strength
soon began to fail, till at last it was drawn behind the gliding
schooner almost inert.

"There," cried Poole; "now I think we might have him in. I was afraid
to haul before for fear of dragging the hook out of its jaws. Look at
that now!" he cried impatiently.

"What's the matter? Don't say he has gone!"

"Oh no, he's not gone. Why, he is making a fresh dash for his liberty.
But we can't lift him in by the hook, and I never thought about getting
a gaff.--Here, hi!" he cried. "Come here, Chips!"

One of the sailors sidled up--a dry-looking, quaint man with a wrinkled
face, who broke out into a smile as he saw what was going on.

"Fish, sir?" he said, and his hand made a movement toward his cap.
"Want me to fetch my bag of tools?"

"Yes," cried Poole. "I mean, get that long-handled gaff from down
below."

"Right, sir," and the man trotted off, leaving the two lads slowly and
steadily hauling in yard after yard of the line.

"Still fast on, sir?" cried the man to Fitz, as he stood what looked
like a highly-educated boat-hook against the rail.

Fitz made no re