the time they’re goofy and want to use line that isn’t strong enough to hold anything big.
“How does the day look?” he asked me.
“It couldn’t be better,” I told him. It was a pretty day all right.
I gave the nigger the wheel and told him to work along the edge of the stream to the eastward and went back to where Johnson was sitting watching his bait bouncing along.
“Want me to put out another rod?” I asked him.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I want to hook, fight, and land my fish myself.
“Good,” I said. “Do you want Eddy to put it out and hand it to you if one strikes so you can hook him?”
“No,” he said. “I prefer to have only one rod out.”
“All right.”
The nigger was still taking her out and I looked and saw he had seen a patch of flying fish burst out ahead and up the stream a little. Looking back, I could see Havana looking fine in the sun and a ship just coming out of the harbor past the Morro.
“I think you’re going to have a chance to fight one today. Mr. Johnson,” I told him.
“It’s about time,” he said. “How long have we been out?”
“Three weeks today.”
“That’s a long time to fish.”
“They’re a funny fish,” I told him. “They aren’t
