A Son of the City | Page 6

its old resting place
between the bent nails.
"No use," he exclaimed in disgust to Silvey.
Hardly were the words out of his mouth before the reel gave a sharp
click of alarm. The sagging line grew taut and rose more and more
from the water as an unseen something made a frightened break for
liberty. John seized the handle as the rod threatened to drop into the
water and jumped to his feet.
"Gee!" he cried, half frightened by the weight and resistance of the fish,
"Gee!"
Silvey strained his eyes far out in an effort to descry the captive. The
southerner who had given the minnows sprang forward with a shout of
"Play him, boy, play him. Give him line until he turns or he'll break

away."
"Can't," John gasped, his heart in his mouth. "It's all out, now."
As the cheap line stretched almost to the breaking point, the fish circled
rapidly landward, then, alarmed by the shoaling water, sped back, close
by the pier, for the open lake. The minnow monopolist jerked his lines
clear of impending entanglement and scowled.
"Take in slack, boy, take in slack," shouted the southerner.
John's fingers spun around like a paper pinwheel. Again the line
tightened and again the carp turned to the shore. The news that a big
one was hooked spread far down the pier, and the boys, for the first
time in their lives, tasted the delight of being the cynosure of the eyes
of a rapidly increasing crowd. The man with the potatoes had forced his
way to the pier's edge and gave advice with an almost proprietary
manner. The fat negress' husband, roused from his inaction, gibbered
delightedly as the line circled more and more slowly through the water,
while John panted and reeled, slacked and rereeled line until the
exhausted fish rose to the surface directly beneath him.
"Gee," gasped Silvey, awe-struck.
"No wonder he fought like an alligator fish," vouchsafed the
southerner.
"Who says 'taters don't catch anything?" asked the man of that bait
proudly. "Twenty pounds or I'll eat my shirt."
Cautiously, very cautiously, lest the fish make a sudden frightened dash
for liberty, John drew in line to raise the captive from the water.
"Y'all wait a minute," said the southerner. "Land him in my minny net.
That's safer."
But the minnow net, thanks to its abbreviated handle, lacked an easy
two feet of the water, reach as the gaunt, outstretched figure might.

"H'ist away," he ordered finally. "I'll shove under when he gets high
enough."
Inch by inch, the quivering body rose from the water. Appeared above
the wire rim of the net, first the staring, goggle eyes, then the slowly
laboring gills, the twitching side fins, and six inches of glistening
scales.
"Now!" shouted the southerner.
Then, as if sensing the imminent danger, the great body gave a
convulsive wrench, the light hook tore through the soft-fleshed mouth,
and the carp, rebounding from the bark-covered piling, dove into the
lake with a splash and disappeared from sight.
"Shucks!" ejaculated Silvey.
John sat down on the pier suddenly and very quietly. His tackle had
snarled, and as the throng returned to their own poles, he picked at the
tangle of line in the reel while his lower lip trembled piteously.
To have landed that Goliath among fishes! What a triumphal
procession it would have been--a march down the home street with
such a captive. How Sid DuPree and the Harrison boys would have
stared! He rebaited and dropped his line forlornly into the water.
"Maybe he'll bite again," he suggested, hoping against fate.
The minutes dragged. The gaunt, gray-faced southerner stretched out
on the pier for a nap. The sandy-haired German rose from his seat
beside the hunchback, stretched the stiffness from his arms, and
unjointed his pole. The last neatly dressed business man was walking
briskly from the pier. Silvey yawned listlessly.
"Breakfast time, ain't it?" he asked.
John's watch showed a quarter after eight. Slowly they reeled in the
dripping lines, freed the hooks from all traces of water-soaked bait, and

dismounted their rods. As they left the lake shore, the sun's rays
became oppressive with heat. The air had lost the cool, fresh fragrance
of early morning, and hinted of soot-producing factories and unsavory
slaughter houses. Suburban trains thundered incessantly cityward,
blending the snorts of their locomotives with the rumble of
innumerable elevated trains and the clamoring bells of the surface cars.
When they came to the tall poplars which marked the entrance to the
park, Silvey looked down and viewed the fruit of their morning's labors
with disgust.
"He's awful small," he said shamefacedly. "Throw him into the
bushes."
John raised the diminutive perch into the air and regarded it glumly.
"Cat'll eat him, I guess."
"Have to sneak