“It would take something pretty bad to spoil a day like this one,” I said.
* * * * *
Two days later the weather turned still and warm, the bass refused to bite, and even the sunfish lay, shy or wary or indifferent, in their shallow, sunny pools, so we resolved to walk down the river to the post-office, four miles away, for possible mail. As we sat on the steps of the little store, looking it over,—“Here’s news,” said Jonathan; “Jack and Molly say they’ll run up if we want them, day after to-morrow—up on the morning train, and back on the evening.”
“Good! Tell them to come along.”
“No—it’s to-morrow—letter’s been here since yesterday. I’ll telegraph.”
As we tramped home we planned the day. “We’ll meet them and all walk up together,” said Jonathan.
“We’d better catch some bass and leave them all hooked in a pool, ready for them to pull out,” I added; “otherwise they may not catch any. And maybe you’d better meet them and I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”
“Nonsense! You come, and we’ll all get dinner when we get back. That’s what they’re coming for—to see the whole thing.”
“But if it’s late—they’ve got to get back for that down train.”
“Well—time enough.”