Mr. Collins called to us when he was quite a ways off. “Hello, fellows!” says he. “Had any luck to-day?”
We shook our heads. In a minnit they were in the clearing and in another were standing right by us.
“My friend, Mr. Jiggins, boys,” says Mr. Collins, and then he went over all our names careful. “He’s come up to fish, but I don’t believe there’s room enough for him in the stream. Do you?”
“Well,” says Mark, “him and me would f-f-fill it perty full.”
It was the first time I ever heard Mark Tidd joke about his own fatness, and it surprised me considerable. But he had a reason, most likely. He usually had a reason for what he did.
“Been having visitors?” asked Mr. Collins.
“Visitors?” says Mark, and looked as dull as a sheep. You wouldn’t have thought, to look at him then, that he knew enough to spell fish without putting a “g” in it.
“Oh, I just saw somebody drive away.”
“Yes,” says Mark. “Went p-p-perty fast, too.”
“Did seem to be in a hurry,” says Mr. Jiggins.