“I was afraid of that raft,” said he, “but it’s lucky it was no worse. Come here, John.”
“It wasn’t the fault of the raft, sir,” chattered John. “I just got foolish and slipped off. I’m all right. Where’s my fish?”
Surely enough, they turned to the other end of the raft; where they saw John’s rod fast between two logs, where the reel held it firmly. All the line was run out, but when Jesse reached out and brought in the rod he felt a surge at the other end which told that the fish was still on.
“Let me have him,” said John. “I’m just going to get even with him if I can, and take him out of the wet, too.”
Much relieved at seeing him so plucky and at finding him now safe, the others roared with laughter as he stood, wet and shivering, at the edge of the beach, fighting his big trout for several minutes before he could get him in. But at last victory rested with the skilful young angler, and Uncle Dick with a piece of coffee-sacking scooped out the big rainbow as he came inshore.
“Well, there,” said he, “is fish enough for supper. Now, John, go and strip and wring your clothes and dry out by the fire. I think maybe that’ll be fish enough for a while. We’re lucky to get the fish, and lucky to get you, too, for it’s no joke to go overboard in water as cold as that.”
“You can just bet it isn’t!” said John, his face now almost blue with cold, although he was beginning to revive in the warm rays of the sun. “Just for that, I am going to eat that fish—or as much of him as I can.”