“Why, didn’t he tell you where the rods and lines were, and the worms? You go on and fish. I should.”
“You would, Jem?”
“Of course.”
“But there won’t be time before dinner now,” said Mercer thoughtfully. “I say, are you hungry?”
“Not very,” I said, “and I’ve got some biscuits left.”
“Then come on,” cried Mercer. “Don’t tell him weave gone, Jem, and I will stuff that mag for you splendidly, see if I don’t.”
“I shan’t see him, my lad. There, off you go.”
“Yes: come on!” cried Mercer excitedly; “and—I say, Jem, lend us a basket.”
“What for?”
“To put the fish in?”