“Wouldn’t you like to play short?”
“I’m your man!”
“I thought you’d want to, so I saved the position for you.”
“That’s good of you! I’ll try not to disgrace—hold on, I’ve got another strike! I don’t want to lose this fellow!”
Once more Dan swung the skiff around until it was broadside to the struggling fish. He was too wise to make any suggestions to his companion at such a time, though he quizzically watched his friend as the latter attempted to follow the directions that had been given him before. The pickerel was securely hooked and at last Walter managed to bring his victim near enough to the boat to enable Dan to secure it with the aid of a landing-net.
“It’s only a little fellow!” exclaimed Walter in disgust, as he looked at the fish after it had been thrown upon the bottom of the boat. “It won’t weigh more than a pound and a half. Not much like the big one that got away.”
“That’s a trick fish have,” remarked Dan dryly, as he once more resumed his task at the oars, after he had placed a fresh bait on the hook.
“But the one I lost was a big one!” persisted Walter.
“That’s what I’m telling you. It will get bigger and bigger all the time. To-night when you go back to your grandfather’s, that pickerel will weigh ten pounds at the very least. The weight increases as the square of the distance.”
“That’s all right, Dan,” laughed Walter. “Have it your own way. You’ll have to own up that I landed this fellow all right, anyway.”