“I don’t either,” was the captain’s answer, “but you can’t tell until you try. There is plenty of tackle aboard, and you might land something nice. There are fish in the lake—plenty of ’em. The thing to do is to catch ’em.”
The boys needed no other invitation, and soon they had lines trailing over the stern of the ship, far enough away from the screw to avoid getting tangled in the blades. Mr. Ackerman, the sick passenger, who has improved considerably, also took a line, and joined the boys.
“Let’s see who gets the biggest fish,” proposed Ned.
“Let’s see who gets the first one,” supplemented Bart. “That’s the best test.”
It did not look as if luck was going to be very good, for the lines had been over half an hour, and no one had had so much as a nibble.
“This is getting tiresome,” spoke Ned, as he assumed a more comfortable position in his chair. Then he tied his line to his wrist, propped his feet up on the rail, and lounged back.
“Well, if that isn’t a lazy way of fishing!” exclaimed Frank. “Why don’t you sit up?”
“I will when I get a bite,” replied Ned.
They resumed their waiting, with that patience which is, or ought to be, part of every angler’s outfit. Suddenly Frank nudged Bart and pointed to Ned. The latter had fallen asleep in his chair.
“Let’s play a joke on him,” proposed Fenn in a whisper. “I’ll tie him fast in his chair.”