"Has Billy said anything more to you about his uncle's business?"
"No. I reckon he told us all he could. He sure is a nice fellow—Billy, I mean. I like him better every day."
"So do I," added the other brother, and for some time they rowed on, talking of their chums, and the various happenings at school and elsewhere.
As they rounded a bend in the stream, Andy, casting a look over his shoulder to get the proper course, uttered an exclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked Frank. "Is the current too much for you? It is stronger than I've known it in some time."
"No, it wasn't that, but there's a fellow sitting out on the dead limb of that old, rotten sycamore tree, fishing right over that swift eddy."
"So he is," agreed Frank, looking toward the place where the school lads often went to catch fine fish.
The fishing hole was generally a good spot to pull out the finny prizes, but now the river was swollen with the Spring rains and the water was deep, swirling about in a dangerous pool where the stream backed up around a cut in the bank to make an eddy.
"That fellow'd better look out," went on Andy. "That limb is half cracked through. I know, for I went out on it for a dive last year, and it almost gave way with me. I told the fellows about it, and they've since kept off. He'd better look out."
"Call to him, and warn him," suggested Frank.