Desiree waded out to us and lent a hand, and in another ten
minutes we had him high and dry on the rock.
He was even larger than I had thought. No wonder Harry had
called him--or one like him--a whale. It was all of fifteen feet
from his snout to the tip of his tail. The skin was dead black on
top and mottled irregularly on the belly.
As we sat sharpening the points of our spears on the rock,
preparatory to skinning him, Desiree stood regarding the fish
with unqualified approval. She turned to us:
"Well, I'd rather eat that than those other nasty things."
"Oh, that isn't what we want him for," said Harry, rubbing his
finger against the edge of his spear-point. "He's probably not
fit to eat."
"Then why all this trouble?" asked Desiree.
"Dear lady, we expect to ride him home," said Harry, rising to
his feet.
Then he explained our purpose, and you may believe that Desiree
was the most excited of the lot as we ripped down the body of the
fish from tail to snout and began to peel off the tough skin.
"If you succeed you may choose the new hangings for my boudoir,"
she said, with an attempt at lightness not altogether successful.
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