"We'll just have to be patient," whispered Frank, when they had been in hiding for more than half an hour. "Can't expect the fish to bite the minute we put out the bait."
Joe settled himself into a more comfortable position.
"This is the queerest fishing I've ever done," he mused.
It was very quiet. They had no difficulty in breathing, as the locker had a number of air spaces that they had bored in the top and sides, invisible to a casual glance.
Once in a while they could hear a car speeding past on the Shore Road.
Minute after minute went by. They were becoming cramped. Presently Joe yawned loud and long.
"I guess it's no use," said Frank, at last. "We're out of luck to-night."
"Can't expect to be lucky the first time," replied his brother philosophically.
"We might as well go home."
Frank raised the lid of the locker and peeped out. It was quite dark. The Shore Road was deserted.