The thousand times that he had proved it meant nothing. Now he was proving it again. Each time was a new time and he never thought about the past when he was doing it.
I wonder what he made that lurch for,he thought.The wire must have slipped on the hill of his back.Certainly his back cannot feel as badly as mine does.But he cannot pull this skiff forever,no matter how great he is.Now everything is cleared away that might make trouble and I have a big reserve of line;all that a man can ask.
He was comfortable but suffering,although he did not admit the suffering at all.
“He is two feet longer than the skiff,”the old man said. The line was going out fast but steadily and the fish was not panicked .The old man was trying with both hands to keep the line just inside of breaking strength.He knew that if he could not slow the fish with a steady pressure the fish could take out all the line and break it.
“I wish the boy were here and that I had some salt,”he said aloud.
There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.
“Now,”he said,when his hand had dried,“I must eat the small tuna.I can reach him with the gaff and eat him here in comfort.”