“Well, I rather guess we’re not!” responded Bob, eagerly.
“It’s quitting time now, though,” said George, glancing again at the sun, which was just above the western horizon. “The teams will be up there at that farmhouse you can see yonder. We’ll get some milk to drink there, too, and that’ll help to stay your stomachs till you can get back to the hotel.”
The boat was speedily sent ashore, and the delighted boys leaped quickly out upon the bank.
“You can take the muscallonge, and I’ll bring the fish box,” said George.
Securing a stout limb of a tree he thrust it through the gills of the monstrous fish, and then, with one end resting on the shoulder of each boy, and the muscallonge dragging almost to the ground between them, they started for the house, where George soon after arrived with the fish box, which of itself was no mean load.
He dropped the box on the grass near which the boys had placed the muscallonge, and said, “I’ll get some steelyards in the house, boys, and we’ll see how much the fellow weighs.”
In a moment he returned, but before he proceeded to weigh the fish, he opened its huge jaws and began to thrust into them some of the smaller pickerel and pike they had caught. Not satisfied with his efforts, he was about to add some good-sized stones, when Jock, who had been watching the actions of the boatman as if he did not understand what he was doing, suddenly exclaimed,—
“Here, George, what are you doing?”
“Getting this fish ready to be weighed,” replied George, without pausing in his occupation.
“Well, then, weigh the muscallonge. We don’t want to weigh all of St. Lawrence county. The muscallonge will do.”