re. "And even Miss
Kate's got a line! What do girls know about fishing?"

"If there's any tautog over there, I bet Helen and Ruth get 'em.
They're all right in any game," declared the loyal Tom.

"Madge will squeal and want somebody to take the fish off her hook, if
she does catch one," grinned Bob. "She puts on lots of airs because
she's the oldest; but she's a regular 'scare-cat,' after all."

"Helen and Ruth are good fellows," returned Tom, with emphasis.
"They're quite as good fun as the ordinary boy--of course, not you,
Bobbins, or Busy Izzy here; but they are all right."

"What do you think of that Nita girl?" asked Busy Izzy, suddenly.

"I believe there's something to her," declared Bob, with conviction.
"She ain't afraid of a living thing, I bet!"

"There is something queer about her," Tom added, thoughtfully. "Have
you noticed how that Crab fellow looks at her?"

"I see he hangs about her a good bit," said Isadore, quickly. "Why,
do you suppose?"

"That's what I'd like to know," returned Tom Cameron.

They were now where Phineas had told them bass might be caught, and gave
their attention to their tackle. All three boys had fished for perch,
pike, and other gamey fresh-water fish; but this was their first casting
with a rod into salt water.

"A true disciple of Izaak Walton should be dumb," declared Tom,
warningly eyeing Isadore.

"Isn't he allowed any leeway at all--not even when he lands a fish?"
demanded the irrepressible.

"Not above a whisper," grunted Bob Steele, trying to bait his hook with
his thumb instead of the bait provided by Phineas. "Jingo!"

"Old Bobbins has got the first bite," chuckled Tom, under his breath,
as he made his cast.

The reel whirred and the hook fell with a light splash into a little eddy
where the water seemed to swirl about a sunken rock.

"You won't catch anything there," said Isadore.

"I'll gag you if you don't shut up," promised Tom.

Suddenly his line straightened out. The hook seemed to be sucked right
down into a hole between the rocks, and the reel began to whir. It
stopped and Tom tried it.

"Pshaw! that ain't a bite," whispered Isadore.

At Tom's first attempt to reel in, the fish that had seized his hook
started--for Spain! At least, it shot seaward, and the boy knew that
Spain was about the nearest dry land if the fish kept on in that
direction.

"A strike!" Tom gasped and let his reel sing for a moment or two. Then,
when the drag of the li