"Nothing easier," said Bob, as he came ashore and put on his clothes. In a little while they were all three out on the lake casting like veterans. Bob was in one canoe alone while Pud paddled Bill in the other canoe. In a very short time they had over thirty fine trout, and at a shout from Jack they came back to camp.
"Well, did you have any luck?" asked Jack, as they came to the shore.
"Bully!" said Bob. "This lake is full of trout as fine as I have ever seen."
"No wonder," replied Jack. "There is no one here to catch them, and they keep on increasing."
"Well, I'll reduce the supply if we stay here a few days," said Pud. "I could eat an ox, let alone a few trout."
"You'll get all you want to eat and then some," said Jack.
The fish were soon cleaned, and twenty minutes later they sat around a table made of two big logs with birch bark spread over it. It was not quite so comfortable as in their home camp, where they had a rude bench to sit on, but not one of them even thought of any such luxuries. They had had a strenuous day with but a very small lunch, and they were as hungry as wolves. The way the biscuits, the trout and everything else disappeared was a tribute to Jack's cooking. Even Pud at last drew back from the improvised table fully satisfied.
"The Germans have a proverb to the effect that 'Hunger is the best cook,'" said Mr. Anderson.
"That's true," broke in Pud, "but when you have a fine cook and hunger too, then there is real enjoyment in eating even the most simple fare."
"Well said, old top," remarked Bill. "'But first tell me when you got to be a philosopher."