[ CHAPTER XIV]
BIG MIKE AGAIN
"Mrs. Miller, can’t I take Ned fishing?” asked Tom, through the open door.
He and Ned and Bob were sitting on the front porch. It was two weeks after the shooting accident, and Ned, aside from the arm still carried, for safety, in a sling, was apparently as hale as ever. Never a day passed that Tom was not in to see him at least once, and often more frequently, and visits from Hal and other friends swelled the calling list.
Ned had told so many times just “how it felt” to be shot, that now it was an old story, and he was getting tired of being the fashion.
“Why——I hardly think it would be wise, Tom,” responded Mrs. Miller, from within.
“But fishing’ll soon be over—that is, the best of it,” pressed Tom. “Perch are running thick as flies, so you can catch them as fast as you can throw in and pull out. Hen Swiggert brought home a hundred and four yesterday, and he was gone just part of a day. It’s too bad Ned has got to miss the fun.”
“’Twouldn’t hurt me a bit, mother,” urged Ned. “’Twould do me good.”
“I think you ought to keep quiet,” declared his mother.
“He can be just as quiet as he is here,” argued Tom. “We’ll go over on Eagle. I’ll row him, and we’ll get up in Catfish Slough, and all he’ll need do will be sit in the shade and fish. He can fish with one hand, easy.”