“And he’s lost his line, and the hook, too,” commented Will.

“That’s of little consequence, for there are plenty more where they came from.  I’m glad he was sensible enough not to carry the joke too far,” observed Frank.

Jerry came paddling slowly back.  Apparently he wanted to continue his fishing, but his good sense told him the hour was really too late.

“Talk to me about your toboggan slides!  What could compare with that jolly old dash?  Peary wasn’t in it with me.  I’ve heard of boats pulled by dolphins, but give me a shark every time for a racer.  I’m only sorry I had to cut loose so soon,” he said as he came aboard.

“I see you have one mullet left, Jerry.  After supper we’ll get out a couple of lines, and fish from the motor-boat.  Perhaps we can pick up a channel bass or a weakfish, which I am told they call a sea trout down here.”

“A good idea, Frank.  I’ll just get the lines ready while you look after supper.  Glad to see Bluff managed to find his oysters.  Perhaps we’ll have a rest now, and he’ll quit sighing after the same.  But they look fine and dandy, too.”

The boys did not wonder so much now at the size of the hooks they had found in Cousin Archie’s assortment of war material, each of them fastened on a heavy but pliable brass snell, and with copper wire instead of thread.  Florida sea fishing requires such heavy tackle, because one is never certain whether he may hook a forty-pound channel bass or a shark, and an ordinary hook would be quickly torn loose.

The oyster stew turned out well.  Every one was loud in praise of its splendid qualities, and Bluff was given to understand that they did not care how often he supplied the larder with a pail of fresh bivalves.

He did not seem just quite so eager to promise, and Frank suspected that those nasty little cuts on his fingers were beginning to be painful.

The supper over, the boys sat around, taking it easy, and looking out upon the open space where they knew the mysterious gulf lay, about which they had read so much in the past.

Once they saw lights moving along, which must certainly have belonged to some sort of craft, either a steamer bound for New Orleans, or else some private steam yacht, the owner of which was cruising in these sub-tropical waters for pleasure.

Jerry had cast out a line from the bow and a second one from the stern.  As the depth of water was good, it did not much matter how far from shore the bait lay.

“Hope something gets hold before we turn in,” he said, after carrying out his part of the program.

“Yes; fresh fish for breakfast wouldn’t taste bad,” remarked Bluff.

“Bah!  That’s the only thing you think of, Bluff.  Now, if you had any genuine sporting blood in your veins it would be the last thing you bothered about.  Let me shoot the game, or catch the fish, and I don’t care who eats them,” said Jerry.