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Thirty fathoms is a hundred and eighty feet, and, with a huge and

desperate fish disputing every inch of the way, it becomes a

seemingly endless labor. But at last Code, straining his eyes

over the side, caught a glimpse of quick circles of white in the

green and reached for the maul that was stuck under a thwart.

Two more heaves and the cod, open-mouthed, thrashed on the

surface. A smart rap on the head with the maul and he came into

the dory quietly. There were little pink crabs sticking to him

and he did not seem as fat as he should, although he topped the

fifty-pound mark.

"Lousy!" said Code. "Lousy and hungry! It's good fishing."

With a short, stout stick at hand he wrenched the hook out of the

cod's mouth, baited up, and cast again. The descending bait was

rushed and seized. This time both hooks bore victims.