CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
DEXTER MAKES A FRIEND.
"I like him," said Dexter to himself, as he hurried down the garden,found the place, and for the next ten minutes he was busy fitting up histackle, watching a boy on the other side of the river the while, as hesat in the meadow beneath a willow-tree fishing away, and every now andthen capturing a small gudgeon or roach.
The river was about thirty yards broad at this spot, and as Dexterprepared his tackle and watched the boy opposite, the boy oppositefished and furtively watched Dexter.
He was a dark, snub-nosed boy, shabbily-dressed, and instead of beingfurnished with a bamboo rod and a new line with glistening float, he hada rough home-made hazel affair in three pieces, spliced together, butfairly elastic; his float was a common quill, and his line of so manyhairs pulled out of a horse's tail, and joined together with apeculiarly fast knot.
Before Dexter was ready the shabby-looking boy on the other side hadcaught two more silvery roach, and Dexter's heart beat fast as he atlast baited his hook and threw in the line as far as he could.
He was pretty successful in that effort, but his cork float and the shotmade a loud splash, while the boy opposite uttered a chuckle.
"He's laughing at me," said Dexter to himself; and he tried theexperiment of watching his float with one eye and the boy with theother, but the plan did not succeed, and he found himself gazing fromone to the other, always hurriedly glancing back from the boy to thefloat, under the impression that it bobbed.
He knew it all by heart, having many a time drunk in old Dimsted'swords, and he remembered that he could tell what fish was biting by theway the float moved. If it was a bream, it would throw the float up sothat it lay flat on the water. If it was a roach, it would give a shortquick bob. If it was a perch, it would give a bob, and then a series ofsharp quick bobs, the last of which would be right under, while if itwas a tench, it would glide slowly away.
But the float did nothing but float, and nothing in the way of bobbing,while the shabby boy on the other side kept on striking, and every nowand then hooking a fish.
"Isn't he lucky!" thought Dexter, and he pulled out his line to findthat the bait had gone.
He began busily renewing it in a very _nonchalant_ manner, as he wasconscious of the fact that the boy was watching him keenly with criticaleyes.
Dexter threw in again; but there was no bite, and as the time went on,it seemed as if all the fish had been attracted to the other side of theriver, where the shabby-looking boy, who fished skilfully and well, kepton capturing something at the rate of about one every five minutes.
They were not large, but still they were fish, and it was mosttantalising to one to be patiently waiting, while the other was busylanding and rebaiting and throwing in again.
At last a happy thought struck Dexter, and after shifting his floatabout from place to place, he waited till he saw the boy looking at him,and he said--
"I say?"
"Hullo!" came back, the voices easily passing across the water.
"What are you baiting with?"
"Gentles."
"Oh!"
Then there was a pause, and more fishing on one side, waiting on theother. At last the shabby boy said--
"You're baiting with worms, ain't you?"
"Yes."
"Ah, they won't bite at worms much this time o' day."
"Won't they?" said Dexter, putting out his line.
"No. And you ain't fishing deep enough."
"Ain't I!"
"No. Not by three foot."
"I wish I'd got some gentles," said Dexter at last.
"Do you!"
"Yes."
"Shall I shy some over in the box?"
"Can you throw so far?"
"Yers!" cried the shabby boy. "You'll give me the box again, won'tyou?"
"Yes; I'll throw it back."
The boy on the other side divided his bait by putting some in a piece ofpaper. Then putting a stone in his little round tin box, he walked backa few yards so as to give himself room, stepped forward, and threw thebox right across, Dexter catching it easily.
"Now, you try one o' them," said the donor of the fresh bait.
Dexter eagerly did as was suggested, and five minutes after there was asharp tug, which half drew his float below the surface.
"Why, you didn't strike," said the boy sharply.
"Well, you can't strike 'em till you've got hold of them," retortedDexter; and the shabby-looking boy laughed.
"Yah!" he said; "you don't know how to fish."
"Don't I! Why, I was taught to fish by some one who knows all aboutit."
"So it seems," said the boy jeeringly. "Don't even know how to strike afish. There, you've got another bite. Look at him; he's running awaywith it."
It was no credit to Dexter that he got hold of that fish, for theunfortunate roach had hooked itself.
As the float glided away beneath the surface, Dexter gave a tremendoussnatch with the rod, and jerked the fish out of the water among thebranches of an overhanging tree, where the line caught, and the captivehung suspended about a foot below a cluster of twigs, flapping about andtrying to get itself free.
Dexter's fellow-fisherman burst into a roar of laughter, laid down hisrod, and stamped about on the opposite bank slapping his knees, whilethe unlucky fisherman stood with his rod in his hand, jigging the line.
"You'll break it if you don't mind," cried the shabby boy.
"But I want to get it out."
"You shouldn't have struck so hard. Climb up the tree, get out on thatbranch, and reach down."
Dexter looked at the tree, which hung over the water to such an extentthat it seemed as if his weight would tear it from its hold in the bank,while the water looked terribly deep and black beneath.
"I say," cried the shabby boy jeeringly; "who taught you how to fish!"
"Why, old Dimsted did, and he knew."
"Who did!" cried the boy excitedly.
"Old Dimsted."
"Yah! That he didn't. Why, he's been in the House these ten years--ever since I was quite a little un."
"Well, I know that," shouted back Dexter. "He taught me all the same."
"Why, how came you to know grandfather!" cried the shabby boy.
Dexter ceased pulling at the line, and looked across at hisshabbily-dressed questioner. For the first time he glanced down at hiswell-made clothes, and compared his personal appearance with that of theboy opposite, and in a curiously subtle way he began to awake to thefact that he was growing ashamed of the workhouse, and the people in it.
"Yah! you didn't know grandfather," cried the boy mockingly; "and youdon't know how to fish. Grandfather wouldn't have taught you to chuck afish up in the tree. You should strike gently, like that."
He gave the top of his rod a slight, quick twitch, and hooked agood-sized roach. Dexter grinning to see him play it till it was feebleenough to be drawn to the side and lifted out.
"That's the way grandfather taught me how to fish," continued the boy,as he took the hook from the captive's mouth, "I say, what's your name!"
"Dexter Grayson," was the answer, for the boy felt keenly already thatthe names Obed Coleby were ones of which he could not be proud.
"Ever been in the workus!"
"Yes."
"Ever see grandfather there!"
"Yes, I've seen him," said Dexter, who felt no inclination to enlightenthe boy further.
"Ah, he could fish," said the boy, baiting and throwing in again. "Myname's Dimsted--Bob Dimsted. So's father's. He can fish as well asgrandfather. So can I," he added modestly; "there ain't a good placenowheres in the river as we don't know. I could take you where youcould ketch fish every swim."
"Could you?" said Dexter, who seemed awed in the presence of so muchknowledge.
"Course I could, any day."
"And will you?" said Dexter eagerly.
"Ah dunno," said the boy, striking and missing another fish. "Youwouldn'
t care to go along o' me?"
"Yes, I should--fishing," cried Dexter. "But my line's fast."
"Why don't you climb up and get it then? Ain't afraid, are you!"
"What, to climb that tree?" cried Dexter. "Not I;" and laying the roddown with the butt resting on the bank, he began to climb at once.
"Mind yer don't tumble in," cried Bob Dimsted; "some o' them boughs getsvery rotten--like touchwood."
"All right," said Dexter; and he climbed steadily on in happy ignoranceof the fact that the greeny lichen and growth was not good for darkcloth trousers and vests. But the bole of the tree was short, for ithad been pollarded, and in a minute or two he was in a nest of branches,several of which protruded over the water, the one in particular whichhad entangled the fishing-line being not even horizontal, but dippingtoward the surface.
"That's the way," shouted Bob Dimsted. "Look sharp, they're biting likefun."
"Think it'll bear?" said Dexter.
"Bear? Yes; half a dozen on yer. Sit on it striddling, and workyourself along till you can reach the line. Got a knife?"
"Yes."
"Then go right out, and when you git far enough cut off the littlebough, and let it all drop into the water."
"Why, then, I should lose the fish."
"Not you. Ain't he hooked? You do as I say, and then git back, and youcan pull all out together."
Dexter bestrode the branch, and worked himself along further and furthertill an ominous crack made him pause.
"Go on," shouted the boy from the other side.
"He'll think I'm a coward if I don't," said Dexter to himself, and heworked himself along for another three feet, with the silvery fish justbefore him, seeming to tempt him on.
"There, you can reach him now, can't you?" cried the boy.
"Yes; I think I can reach him now," said Dexter. "Wait till I get outmy knife."
It was not so easy to get out that knife, and to open it, as it wouldhave been on land. The position was awkward; the branch dipped at agreat slope now toward the water, and Dexter's trousers were not onlydrawn half-way up his legs, but drawn so tightly by his attitude that hecould hardly get his hand into his pocket.
It was done though at last, the thin bough in which the line was tangledseized by the left hand, while the right cut vigorously with the knife.
It would have been far easier to have disentangled the line, but BobDimsted was a learned fisher, and he had laid down the law. So Dextercut and cut into the soft green wood till he got through the littlebough all but one thin piece of succulent bark, dancing up and down thewhile over the deep water some fifteen feet from the bank.
_Soss_!
That last vigorous cut did it, and the bough, with its summer burden ofleaves, dropped with a splash into the water.
"There! What did I tell you!" cried Dexter's mentor. "Now you can getback and pull all out together. Fish won't bite for a bit after this,but they'll be all right soon."
Dexter shut up his knife, thrust it as well as he could into his pocket,and prepared to return.
This was not so easy, for he had to go backwards. What was more, he hadto progress up hill. But, nothing daunted, he took tight hold with hishands, bore down upon them, and was in the act of thrusting himselfalong a few inches, when--_Crack_!
One loud, sharp, splintering crack, and the branch, which was rottenthree parts through, broke short off close to the trunk, and like anecho to the crack came a tremendous--_Plash_!
That water, as already intimated, was deep, and, as a consequence, therewas a tremendous splash, and branch and its rider went down right out ofsight, twig after twig disappearing leisurely in the eddying swirl.
Quicksilver: The Boy With No Skid to His Wheel Page 15