"We're making up a jackpot for whoever catches the biggest fish," the mate said. "If you guys want in on it, it will cost you a buck a piece."
Dad gave him three dollars. I figured paying for Benny was wasted money. He probably wouldn't even bait his hook.
I was right. The kid stared suspiciously into the bucket and made a face.
"This stuff stinks! What is it?"
"Dead fish," I told him.
"Do I have to touch it?"
"If you want to bait your hook, you do."
"Here, Benny," Dad said, "take my rod. The hook's baited and in the water. I'll use yours."
"OK!" said Benny. He gripped the handle of the rod as if his life depended on it.
A breeze had sprung up, and the waves were choppy. Some clouds slid over the sun. Nobody caught anything.
Then Benny said, "Something's jerking my line. What should I do?"
"Jerk back!" I told him. I reached for his rod. "I'll get it for you!"
"Let him do it, Joe," Dad said. "Pull, Benny, and hang on tight!"
Wouldn't you know it? Benny caught the first fish—ttle snapper—and he acted as if it were a prize marlin.
Meanwhile the sky had grown dark, and the breeze had turned into a stiff wind, The waves rose higher. Drops of rain slapped our faces, the temperature dropped, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The boat rocked like a runaway cradle.
Dad's face turned green.
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