Henry and Ribsy (Henry Huggins #3)(21)

Mr. Huggins and Mr. Grumbie did not answer. They were too busy getting out the tackle. Mr. Huggins handed Henry a stout rod with a reel attached. The end of the line was fastened to one corner of a three-cornered piece of plastic. A lead sinker was joined to another corner and from the third corner hung a piece of wire with a hook, some red feathers, and a glittering piece of brass.

“Henry, I think the easiest way for you to fish is to drop your line overboard and let the current carry it out,” said Mr. Huggins. “Like this.” He tossed the line into the water. The reel on the rod began to spin as the line was carried out.

“But you didn’t bait the hook,” said Henry.

“Salmon that are trying to get up the river to spawn aren’t hungry,” explained Mr. Huggins. “They bite because the brass spinner makes them angry.”

“Oh,” said Henry. He hoped he could make a salmon good and angry. Then he said, “Ribsy, you get away from those lunches.”

Henry and the two men settled down to fish in silence. Henry dropped his line overboard, let it be carried out, and slowly reeled it in. His father and Mr. Grumbie, skillful fishermen, threw their lines out.

Henry dropped his line again and again. The wind grew colder and his nose began to run. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Finally he said, “Dad, is it lunchtime yet?”

Mr. Huggins looked at his watch. “It is exactly eight thirty-six.”

Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Henry tried not to think about how hungry he was. Ribsy sniffed at the lunches and looked hopefully at Henry.

A shout went up from another boat, and Henry looked in time to see a man lean out of his boat and hook a great silvery fish through the gills with his gaff and pull it into his boat.

“Must be a twenty-pounder,” remarked Mr. Grumbie, as the line sang from his reel.

Henry was filled with excitement at the sight of the great fish. Come on, salmon, bite, he thought, and tossed out his line.

Large raindrops began to splash the boat. Then the rain came pelting down. Rivulets of water ran off Henry’s rain hat. Ribsy shivered and whimpered. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Henry began to wonder if salmon fishing was so much fun after all. If only he was not so hungry.



Finally when the rain stopped Mr. Huggins said, “What do you say we knock off for a few minutes and have a sandwich?”

“Suits me,” said Mr. Grumbie.

“Boy, am I starved!” Henry reached for his lunch box. He poured some soup from his thermos and bit into a thick ham sandwich. Mmm, did it taste good! Ribsy watched every bite he took. When Henry swallowed, Ribsy swallowed. Poor Ribsy. He looked so thin with his wet hair plastered against his body. Henry gave him half a sandwich.

“Save some lunch for later,” warned Mr. Huggins. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

Ribsy gulped the bread and meat. Then he stood up and shook himself so hard his license tags jingled. Water showered in every direction, spattering faces, soaking sandwiches, splashing into the coffee the men were drinking from their thermos tops.

“Hey, cut that out!” Mr. Huggins tried to hold his sandwich out of the spray.

Mr. Grumbie did not say anything. When Ribsy stopped shaking, he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. Then he poured his coffee into the river, stuffed his sandwich back into his lunch box, and got out another.

Mr. Grumbie sure is fussy, thought Henry, taking a big bite out of his soggy sandwich, while Ribsy sat in front of him and watched hungrily. He wagged his tail to show he would like another bite. His tail slapped against the tackle box. Before Henry could grab it, the box turned over, spilling spinners, hooks, and sinkers into the water in the bottom of the boat.

“That sure was close,” exclaimed Henry, looking at the tangle of tackle. “Ribsy might have got a fishhook in his tail. That would have been awful.”

Mr. Grumbie cleared his throat. “Uh, yes,” he said, and bent to unsnarl the tackle.

“Henry,” said Mr. Huggins quietly, “you’d better keep an eye on Ribsy.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Henry felt uncomfortable. Of course Mr. Grumbie didn’t like Ribsy’s overturning the tackle box. But just the same it would have been awful if Ribsy had got a fishhook in his tail.

Henry looked at his wet dog shivering in the wind. “Here, Ribsy, get under my raincoat.” He made a place for Ribsy, who managed to turn around three times before he curled up on the narrow seat and went to sleep. At least he can’t get into trouble when he’s asleep, thought Henry, and wolfed a third sandwich, the rest of his soup, a deviled egg, a piece of chocolate cake, and a banana.

The warm soup and the rocking of the boat made Henry sleepy. He tossed out his line, reeled it in, and wiped his nose over and over again. Why couldn’t a fish hurry up and bite? He wished he could go back to the boathouse and stretch his legs, but he didn’t like to say so when his father and Mr. Grumbie were so interested in fishing. Occasionally a shout went up from one of the other boats and someone held up a salmon. Rain clouds washed over the forest-covered mountains along the edge of the sea. To the south Henry could see another shower approaching. He turned up the collar of his raincoat and waited for the first drops to come spattering down.

“What time is it, Dad?” Henry asked.

“Ten o’clock,” answered his father, reeling in his line. “Getting tired?”