ith it, this plan
is a good one to follow, unless, of course, they are biting freely; in
that case the smaller lines for bream and whiting, &c., are hauled in,
for there is more real sport in landing an 8-lb. flathead than there is
in catching smaller fish, for he is very game, and fights fiercely for
his life.

Having disposed our big lines, we bait the smaller ones with "pippies,"
and not two minutes at the outside elapse after the sinkers have touched
bottom when we know we are to have a good time, for each of us has
hooked a fish, and three whiting are kicking on the sand before five
minutes have expired. Then for another hour we throw out and haul in
again as quickly as possible, landing whiting from 6 oz. to nearly 2
lbs. in weight. One of the "Twins" has three hooks on his line, and
occasionally lands three fish together, and now and again we get small
bream and an occasional "tailer" of 2 lbs. or 3 lbs. As the sun mounts
higher the breeze dies away, the heat becomes very great, and we have
frequent recourse to our water jar--in one case mixing it with whisky.
Then the whiting cease to bite as suddenly as they have begun, and move
off into deeper water. Just as we are debating as to whether we shall
take the boat out into mid-stream, Twin Dick gives a yell as his stick
is suddenly whipped out of the sand, and the loose line lying beside it
rushes away into the water. But Dick is an old hand, and lets his fish
have his first bolt, and then turns him. "By Jingo! sir, he's a big
fellow," he cries, as he hauls in, the line now as taut as a telegraph
wire, and then the other twin comes to his aid, and in a few minutes the
outline of the fish is seen, coming in straight ahead as quick as they
can pull him. When he is within ten feet of the beach the boys run up
the bank and land him safely, as he turns his body into a circle in his
attempts to shake out the hook. Being called upon to estimate his
weight, I give it as 11 lbs., much to the twins' sorrow--they think it
15 lbs.

Half an hour passes, and we catch but half a dozen silvery bream and
some small baby whiting, for now the sun is beating down upon our heads,
and our naked feet begin to burn and sting, so we adjourn to the old
house and rest awhile, leaving our big lines securely tied. But, though
the breeze for which we wait comes along by two o'clock, the fish do
not, and so, after disinterring our takes from the wet sand wherein we
had buried them as caught t