"He's too old a bird to be caught by chaff.

You won't hook him in a blue moon!" "Don't you be too cocksure of that," retorted Captain Miles.

"Sharks, I have noticed, frequently resemble cats in the way they will nibble at a bait, and pretend they don't care about it, when all the while they are dying to gobble it down--just in the same manner as you'll observe pussy, if you offer her a nice bit of meat, will sniff and turn away her head as if rejecting the morsel with disdain, affecting to make you believe it beneath her notice, only the next moment to abstract it slily from your hand, glad enough to get it! You'll see presently, Mr Marline, that our friend there will go at the pork again, I'll bet anything." "All right, cap'en," replied Mr Marline.

"I only hope, I'm sure, that your anticipation will prove correct;" but, from the sly quizzical smile on his face and the dry way in which he spoke, I don't think the mate believed in our hooking the ugly brute, all the same.
After a little time, I noticed two small fishes coming up towards the bait and poking their pointed noses into it as if taking observations, and I called Captain Miles's attention to them.
"Oh, that's a good sign," said he.

"Those are pilot-fish, which always accompany his majesty Mr Shark in the way of _aides-de-camp_, as you call those smart gentlemen in gay uniforms who are usually seen prancing about the general at a review of troops ashore.