"That's a gorgeous catch!" Joan cried. "Much bigger than my blackfish. Garth! What's the matter with your hand?"
He held it out, showing a long gash across the fingers.
"Line cut it," he said briefly.
"He shore did pull some," 'Bijah said. "Guess thet hurts ye, hey? Want to stop an' go home?"
"Go home!" Garth exclaimed. "Gracious, no! Why, we've only caught one, and we haven't had lunch, and you've got to tell us a yarn! Will you tie your handkerchief round it, Joan? I haven't any. I'll fish with the other hand. Of course I don't want to go home."
"Didn't know but ye might," the Cap'n said. "Keep fergettin' you ain't one o' them sissy kids up to the Hotel. I take them out consid'able, an' it's enough to get a saint sorry fer hisself. Wal, s'posing we get the lines up fer a while an' tackle the vittles."
The "vittles," which Cap'n 'Bijah produced from sundry dinner-pails and paper bags, were quite different from the sort which generally figured in Pemberley picnics. They were the kind with which the Captain usually supplied
