“What’s that?”
“That is the name of the little creek in Greenwich village——”
“You know a lot, Dan. I guess you’ve got me all right. I won’t say anything more about a fellow finding out what is going on where he lives until I learn a little more about my own town. Where did you find all this out—I mean the things you’re telling me?”
“I read about them, same as you read about grasshoppers.”
“Come on,” said Walter, rising as he spoke. “Look out for snakes, Dan.”
The great snake was not seen as the two boys once more sought their boat and in a brief time resumed their trolling. Three hours passed and Walter seldom had a strike. “You’re right, Dan,” he said at last; “there isn’t a hungry pickerel in the pond.”
“Too hot,” remarked Dan quietly.
“Yes, I know that’s what you said. Perhaps we’d better quit. We’ve a good seven miles to go—back to my grandfather’s.”
“This is the best time in the day for fishing.”