“What makes you think so?” asked Frank.
“Don’t let it be known,” the old man went on, “but the King of Paprica holds dominion over the Riffles. He has forbidden any one, under pain of being fed to the sacred crocodile, from taking the green bull frog from the pool.”
“He’s crazy,” whispered Bart.
“But we’re after fish, not bull frogs,” interposed Frank, who seemed inclined to humor the strange man.
“Oh, in that case, don’t forget to bait your hooks with soft soap,” said the old man, as he held up a warning finger. “Now remember, not a word to the King of Paprica if you meet him. He knows I’m here on guard, so don’t tell him,” and with that the old man, winking at Frank as though there was a good joke between them, vanished amid the bushes.
“Well, of all queer things,” said Ned softly.
“He’s daffy,” spoke Bart. “Escaped from some asylum, I suppose. However he looks harmless. Come on, we don’t want to get mixed up with him. We’re out for fish.”
“I’d like to find out more about him,” came from Frank. “He winked at me as though it was some sort of a trick.”
“Yes, the kind Ned played yesterday,” exclaimed Frank.
“No more from yours truly,” uttered the perpetrator of the wrong slide. “No more jokes for a while. I’m going fishing. Come on.”