He baited his hook and again cast in his line. Immediately there was a lively wrench. Chet gave the line a twitch, and this time he did catch a fish. The only drawback to his enjoyment lay in the fact that it was only about four, inches long.
“A sardine!” grinned Joe.
However, Chet placed his capture beside the other fish, just as proudly as though it were a ten-pounder.
“It isn’t any fault that I caught it before it had time to grow a little more. It might just as easily have been a big one,” he said.
The fishing became cold sport after a while, inasmuch as the boys were obliged to stay in the one place and could not move around enough to get exercise. They soon began to feel the cold and before long began to await the sound of the dinner bell. This, as Frank had warned them, would be achieved by banging the poker against a tin pan.
“Well, if our supplies are stolen again, we can live on fish,” remarked Joe cheerfully.
“Not if we depend on Chet to catch them for us,” said Biff. “I’m sure we wouldn’t make much of a meal out of that whale he caught. A little bit tough for my taste.”
Chet was just thinking up a retort in kind when they heard the welcome clatter of the tin pan. With one accord, they hauled in their lines, seized the fish they had caught, and raced madly back to the shore, scrambled headlong up the slope and breathlessly plunged into the cabin.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, as they made their hurried entry. “Somebody chasing you?”
“Hunger is chasing us!” declared Chet.