ed,
straightaway, over my line. Then two leaped at once, both directly over
my line.

"Sam, they'll cut my line!" I cried. "What do you think of that?"

Suddenly I saw sharp, dark, curved tails cutting the water. All was
excitement on board that boat then.

"A school of sailfish! Look! Look!" I yelled.

I counted ten tails, but there were more than that, and if I had been
quicker I could have counted more. Presently they went down. And I,
returning to earth and the business of fishing, discovered that during
the excitement my sailfish had taken advantage of a perfectly loose line
to free himself. Nine leaps we recorded him!

Assuredly we all felt that there would be no difficulty in soon hooking
up with another sailfish. And precisely three minutes later I was
standing up, leaning forward, all aquiver, watching my line fly off the
reel. I hooked that fellow hard. He was heavy, and he did not come up or
take off any length of line. Settling down slowly, he descended three or
four hundred feet, or so it seemed, and began to plug, very much like an
albacore, only much heavier. He fooled around down there for ten
minutes, with me jerking at him all the time to irritate him, before he
showed any sign of rising. At last I worried him into a fighting mood,
and up he came, so fast that I did not even try to take up the slack,
and he shot straight up. This jump, like that of a kingfish, was
wonderful. But it was so quick that the cameras could not cover it, and
we missed a great picture. He went down, only to leap again. I reeled
in the slack line and began to jerk at him to torment him, and I got him
to jumping and threshing right near the boat. The sun was in the faces
of the cameras and that was bad. And as it turned out not one of these
exposures was good. What a chance missed! But we did not know that then,
and we kept on tormenting him and snapping pictures of his leaps. In
this way, which was not careless, but deliberate, I played with him
until he shook out the hook. Fifteen leaps was his record.

Then it was interesting to see how soon I could raise another fish. I
was on the _qui vive_ for a while, then settled back to the old
expectant watchfulness. And presently I was rewarded by that vibrating
rap at my bait. I stood up so the better to see. The swells were just
right and the sun was over my shoulder. I spied the long, dark shape
back of my bait, saw it slide up and strike, felt the sharp rap--and
again. Then