Then Hooper looked away, his face beginning to redden. He said, “What’s on your mind, Quint? What are you getting at?”

Quint leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Not a thing,” he said. “Just making a little friendly conversation to pass the time. Mind if I take your beer can when you’re through? Maybe Brody’d like to take another shot.”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Hooper. “But get off my back, will you?”

For the next hour they sat in silence. Brody dozed in the fighting chair, a hat pulled down over his face to protect it from the sun. Hooper sat at the stern, ladling and occasionally shaking his head to keep awake. And Quint sat on the flying bridge, watching the slick, his Marine Corps cap tilted back on his head.

Suddenly Quint said—his voice flat, soft, matter-of-fact—“We’ve got a visitor.”

Brody snapped awake. Hooper stood up. The starboard line was running out, smoothly and very fast.

“Take the rod,” Quint said. He removed his cap and dropped it onto the bench.

Brody took the rod out of the holder, fit it between his legs, and held on.

“When I tell you,” said Quint, “you throw that brake and hit him.” The line stopped running. “Wait. He’s turning. He’ll start again. Don’t want to hit him now or he’ll spit the hook.” But the line lay dead in the water, limp and unmoving. After several moments, Quint said, “I’ll be goddamned. Reel it in.”

Brody cranked the line in. It came easily, too easily. There was not even the mild resistance of the bait.

“Hold the line with a couple fingers or it’ll snarl,” said Quint. “Whatever that was took the bait gentle as you please. Must have kissed it off the line.”

The line came clear of the water and hung at the tip of the rod. There was no hook, no bait, no leader. The wire had been neatly severed. Quint hopped down from the flying bridge and looked at it. He felt the end, ran his fingers around the edges of the break, and gazed out over the slick.

“I think we’ve just met your friend,” he said.

“What?” said Brody.

Hooper jumped down off the transom and said excitedly, “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s terrific.”

“That’s just a guess,” said Quint. “But I’d bet on it. This wire’s been chewed clean through. One try. No hesitation. No other marks on it. The fish probably didn’t even know he had it in his mouth. He just sucked the bait in and closed his mouth and that did it.”

“So what do we do now?” said Brody.

“We wait and see if he takes the other one, or if he surfaces.”

“What about using the porpoise?”

“When I know it’s him,” said Quint. “When I get a look at him and know the bastard’s big enough to be worth it, then I’ll give him the porpoise. They’re garbage-eating machines, these fish, and I don’t want to waste a prize bait on some little runt.”