The wiry
silk line slipped away, and the heavy cord whipped out free.
"Is this my line?" asked Dannie, holding it up.
Jimmy nodded.
"Is the Black Bass my fish? Speak up!" cried Dannie, dangling the
fish from the line.
"It's yours," admitted Jimmy.
"Then I'll be damned if I dinna do what I please wi' my own!"
cried Dannie. With trembling fingers he extracted the hook, and
dropped it. He took the gasping big fish in both hands, and
tested its weight. "Almost seex," he said. "Michty near seex!"
And he tossed the Black Bass back into the Wabash.
Then he stooped, and gathered up his pole and line.
With one foot he kicked the catfish, the tangled silk line, and
the jointed rod, toward Jimmy. "Take your fish!" he said. He
turned and plunged into the river, recrossed it as he came,
gathered up the dinner pail and shovel, passed Mary Malone, a
tumbled heap in the bushes, and started toward his cabin.
The Black Bass struck the water with a splash, and sank to the
mud of the bottom, where he lay joyfully soaking his dry gills,
parched tongue, and glazed eyes. He scooped water with his tail,
and poured it over his torn jaw. And then he said to his progeny,
"Children, let this be a warning to you. Never rise to but one
grub at a time.
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