Nowtheoldmanlookedupandsawthatthebirdwascirgagain.

“He’sfoundfish，”hesaidaloud.Noflyingfishbrokethesurfadtherewasnoscatteringofbaitfish.Butastheoldmanwatched，asmalltunaroseintheair，turnedanddroppedheadfirstintothewater.Thetunashonesilverinthesunandafterhehaddroppedbatothewateranotherandanotherroseandtheywerejumpinginalldires，ierandleapinginlongjumpsafterthebait.Theywerecirgitanddrivingit.

Iftheydon’ttraveltoofastIwillgetintothem，theoldmanthought，achedtheschothewaterwhiteandthebirdnowdroppinganddippingintothebaitfishthatwereforcedtothesurfatheirpanic.

“Thebirdisagreathelp，”theoldmansaid.Justtheernlinecametautunderhisfoot，wherehehadkeptaloopoftheline，andhedroppedhisoarsaheweightofthesmalltuna’sshiveringpullasheheldthelinefirmandeohaulitin.Theshiveringincreasedashepulledinandhecouldseethebluebackofthefishierandthegoldofhissidesbeforeheswunghimoverthesideandintotheboat.Helayierninthesun，padbulletshaped，hisbig，unintelligearingashethumpedhislifeoutagainsttheplankingo
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