He’llstaywithmetoo，Isuppose，theoldmanthoughtaedforittobelight.Itwasowiimebeforedaylightandhepushedagainstthewoodtobewarm.Idoitaslongashe，hethought.Andinthefirstlightthelieanddownintothewater.Theboatmovedsteadilyahefirstedgeofthesuwasontheoldman’srightshoulder.

“He’sheadednorth，”theoldmansaid.Thecurrentwillhavesetusfartotheeastward，hethought.Iwishhewouldturnwiththecurrent.Thatwouldshowthathewastiring.

Whenthesunhadrisenfurthertheoldmanrealizedthatthefishwasn.Therewasonlyonefavorablesign.Theslantofthelineshowedhewasswimmingatalesserdepth.Thatdidnotnecessarilymeanthathewouldjump.Buthemight.

“Godlethimjump，”theoldmansaid.“Ihaveenoughliohandlehim.”

MaybeifIcreasethetensionjustalittleitwillhurthimandhewilljump，hethought.Nowthatitisdaylightlethimjumpsothathe’llfillthesacksalonghisbaewithairandthenheotgodeeptodie.

Hetriedtoihetension，butthelinehadbeentautuptotheveryedgeofthebreakingpointsincehehadhookedthefishatheharshnessasheleanedbacktopullandknewhecoul
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