“None of your nonsense, my boy! Fiddlesticks! I’ve got you! Aha!”

A honied smile overspreads all the faces. A minute passes in silent contemplation.

“A famous eel-pout,” mutters Yefim, scratching under his shoulderblades. “I’ll be bound it weighs ten pounds.”

“Mm! … Yes,” the master assents. “The liver is fairly swollen! It seems to stand out! A-ach!”

The fish makes a sudden, unexpected upward movement with its tail and the fishermen hear a loud splash … they all put out their hands, but it is too late; they have seen the last of the eel-pout.