"It's just like oil.

Now then, first fish.

Put us on a good big bait, Bigley, old chap." The hooks were all ready with the weights and spreaders, and Bigley began calmly enough to hook and twist on a couple of the wet and messy raw mussels for Bob, and then did the same for mine, when we two began to fish on opposite sides of the boat, letting the leads go rapidly down what appeared to be a tremendous distance before they touched the ooze.
It seemed quite a matter of course that we two were to fish, and Bigley wait upon us, opening mussels, rebaiting when necessary, and holding himself ready to take off the fish, should any be caught.
I never used to think anything about Bigley Uggleston in these days, only that he was overgrown and good-tempered, and never ready to quarrel; and it did not seem to strike either of us that he was about the most unselfish, self-denying slave that ever lived.

I know now that we were perfect tyrants to him, while he, amiable giant that he was, bore it all with the greatest of equanimity, and the more unreasonable we were, the more patient he seemed to grow.
We fished for some few minutes without a sign, and then Bob grew weary.
"It's no good here, Big, they won't bite.

Let's go on farther." "Bait's off, perhaps," suggested Bigley.
"No, it isn't.