By the
time he had mastered the reel, and could land the sinker accurately
in front of various imaginary beds of bass weeds, Dannie had
finished the night work in both stables and gone home. But his back
door stood open and therefrom there protruded the point of a long,
heavy cane fish pole. By the light of a lamp on his table, Dannie
could be seen working with pincers and a ball of wire.
"I wonder what he thinks he can do?" said Jimmy.
"I suppose he is trying to fix some way to get that fifteen feet
more line he needs," replied Mary.
When they went to bed the light still burned and the broad
shoulders of Dannie bent over the pole. Mary had fallen asleep, but
she was awakened by Jimmy slipping from the bed. He went to the
window and looked toward Dannie's cabin. Then he left the bedroom
and she could hear him crossing to the back window of the next
room. Then came a smothered laugh and he softly called her. She
went to him.
Dannie's figure stood out clear and strong in the moonlight, in his
wood-yard. His black outline looked unusually powerful in the
silvery whiteness surrounding it.
He held his fishing pole in both hands and swept a circle about him
that would have required considerable space on Lake Michigan, and
made a cast toward the barn. The line ran out smoothly and evenly,
and through the gloom Mary saw Jimmy's figure straighten and his
lips close in surprise. Then Dannie began taking in line. That
process was so slow, Jimmy doubled up and laughed again.
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