"Swing him down and then lift him right in!" kept shouting Fitz and Major Henry. That was the best plan.
"All right," answered Jed. "You take the pole and start him," he said to me. "I'd have to haul him against the current." I was below him, of course, so as to head the trout up-stream.
He tossed the butt at me and I caught it. That was generous of Jed—to let me get the fish out, when he'd been the one to hook it. But we were Scouts together, and we were after meat for all, not glory for one.
I took the pole and with a swing downstream kept Mr. Trout going until he shot out to the edge of the pond, and there Fitz tumbled on top of him and grabbed him with one hand by the gills.
When we held him up we gave our Patrol yell:
B. S. A.! B. S. A.!
Elks! Elks! Hoo-ray!
Oooooooooooo!