Page:Castlemon--Joe Wayring at Home.djvu/12

 edge of the lily-pads ready to pounce upon the first unwary fish that approached his lair, took the frog that was on the hook at the very first cast, and then began the hardest struggle of my life. My rheumatic joints complained loudly as the heavy fish darted up and down the lake, and then dove to the bottom in his mad efforts to escape, but I held on the best I knew how until he leaped full length out of the water, and tried to shake the hook from his mouth; then I was ready to give up the contest. He was the largest fish I ever saw.

"Scotland's a burning!" exclaimed Joe. "Isn't he a beauty? If this old rod was as good as he used to be, wouldn't I have a prize in a few minutes from now?"

I ought to have told you before that my master's name is Joe Wayring; and a right good boy he is, too, as you will find before my story is ended. Nearly all the young fellows of my acquaintance, and I know some of the best there are in the country, have some favorite word or expression which always rises to their lips whenever they are surprised, excited or angry, and the words I have just quoted are