dipped

“Around thirty-five, aren’t you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Married?”
“Divorced.”
“Any particular hobbies?”
Barney laughed. “I play a little golf. Not very seriously.”
McAllen clicked his tongue. “Well, what do you do for fun?”
“Oh . . . I’d say I enjoy almost anything I get involved in.” Barney, still smiling, felt a touch of wariness. He’d been expecting questions from McAllen, but not quite this kind.
“Mainly making money, eh? Well,” McAllen ­conceded, “that’s not a bad hobby. Practical, too. I . . . whup! Just a moment.”
The tip of the slender rod in his left hand dipped slightly, and sixty feet out beyond the end of the old dock a green and white bobber began twitching about. Then the bobber suddenly disappeared. McAllen lifted the rod tip a foot or two with a smooth, t