“That was rare luck, Mac,” I said, wondering a little.  Had Mac been overmodest, before, when he had said he was no great angler?  Or was he——?  Aweel, no matter.  I’ll let him tell his tale.

“Man, Harry,” he went on, “can ye no see the ithers?  They were excited.  All offered me advice.  But they never thocht that I could land him.  I didna mysel’—­he was a rare fish, that yin!  Three hours I fought wi’ him, Harry!  But I brocht him ashore at last.  And, Harry, wad ye guess what he weighed?”

I couldna, and said so.  But I was verra thochtfu’.

“Thirty-one pounds,” said Mac, impressively.

“Thirty-one pounds?  Did he so?” I said, duly impressed.  But I was still thochtfu’, and Mac looked at me.

“Wasna he a whopper, Harry?” he asked.  I think he was a wee bit disappointed, but he had no cause—­I was just thinking.

“Aye,” I said.  “Deed an’ he was, Mac.  Ye were prood, the day, were ye no?  I mind the biggest fish ever I caught.  I wasna fit to speak to the Duke o’ Argyle himsel’ that day!”

“How big was yours?” asked Mac, and I could see he was angry wi’ himself.  Do ye mind the game the wee yins play, of noughts and crosses?  Whoever draws three noughts or three crosses in a line wins, and sometimes it’s for lettin’ the other have last crack that ye lose.  Weel, it was like a child who sees he’s beaten himself in that game that Mac looked then.

“How big was mine, Mac?” I said.  “Oh, no so big.  Ye’d no be interested to know, I’m thinking.”

“But I am,” said Mac.  “I always like to hear of the luck other fishermen ha’ had.”

“Aweel, yell be makin’ me tell ye, I suppose,” I said, as if verra reluctantly.  “But—­oh, no, Mac, dinna mak’ me.  I’m no wantin’ to hurt yer feelings.”

He laughed.

“Tell me, man,” he said.

“Weel, then—­twa thousand six hundred and fourteen pounds,” I said.

Mac nearly fell oot o’ the boat into the loch.  He stared at me wi’ een like saucers.

“What sort of a fish was that, ye muckle ass?” he roared.

“Oh, just a bit whale,” I said, modestly.  “Nowt to boast aboot.  He gied me a battle, I’ll admit, but he had nae chance frae the first——­”

And then we both collapsed and began to roar wi’ laughter.  And we agreed that we’d tell no fish stories to one another after that, but only to others, and that we’d always mak’ the other fellow tell the size of his fish before we gave the weighing of ours.  That’s the only safe rule for a fisherman who’s telling of his catch, and there’s a tip for ye if ye like.

Still and a’ we caught us no fish, and whiles we talked we’d stopped rowing, until the boat drifted into the weeds and long grass that filled one end of the loch.  We were caught as fine as ye please, and when we tried to push her free we lost an oar.  Noo, we could not row hame wi’oot that oar, so I reached oot wi’ my rod and tried to pull it in.  I had nae sort of luck there, either, and broke the rod and fell head first into the loch as well!