of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

He handed Colin a rod and the boy looked at it. It was nearly seven feet
long, and the whole weight of it, except for the short butt which held
the reel, was not more than sixteen ounces. The line was thin enough to
be threaded through a big darning-needle, it was known as '21 thread' as
it had that number of strands, each strand being tested to a breaking
strain of two pounds.

"Something will smash, sure," said Colin, examining the outfit
carefully; "that looks as though it wouldn't hold a trout!"

"The rod is a split bamboo," his father said, "and if the line breaks it
will be because you've allowed the fish to jerk. Anybody can catch fish
with a heavy line, but the fish hasn't got any chance, and there's no
sport in it. It's on a par with shooting quail sitting instead of
flushing them. Good angling consists in landing the heaviest fish with
the lightest tackle, not in securing the greatest amount of fish. Why,
here in Avalon, there isn't a single boatman who would allow his boat to
be used by a 'fish-hog' who wanted to use heavy tackle."

He had hardly finished speaking when there came a quiver on the line,
and excitedly Colin jerked up his rod.

"Don't strike with a jerk!" his father cried, but Colin was in fortune,
and the line did not break. The reel screamed "z-z-z-ee" with the speed
of its revolutions as the tuna sped to the bottom, and the older angler,
leaning forward, wetted thoroughly the leather brake that the boy was
holding down with his right thumb.

"Easy on the brake," came the warning; "don't put too much strain on the
line or she'll snap!"

But Colin had the makings of an angler in him and he was able
instinctively to judge the amount of pressure that was needed. The tuna,
followed by a sheet of spume-blue water churned by the rapidly-towed
line, plunged on and on, until two hundred and fifty feet of line had
been run out. Then, from the ice-cold bottom, rising as a meteor darts
across the sky, the great fish clove the water to the surface.

"What will I do when he leaps?" asked Colin breathlessly, reeling for
dear life as soon as he felt the upward dash of the tuna.

"He won't leap after he's hooked," his father said; "they very seldom
do. I told you that before. It's the tarpon that plunges and leaps after
being hooked."

The tuna reached the surface with a speed that seemed incredible to the
boy, and though he had been reeling as rapidly as he coul