"That's true," agreed Greg Holmes, as the two boys stood on a side street not far from Main Street in Gridley.
"I wish the rest of the fellows would hurry along," Dave went on impatiently.
"At all events, I wish Dick would hurry up, as he has charge of the arrangements," Greg made answer. "Oh, my! But I'm getting anxious to see the fish nibble."
"I thought you didn't care especially about fishing," Dave murmured, regarding his friend.
"Probably, as far as mere fishing goes, I don't care so very much," young Holmes assented. "But when fishing means weeks of outdoor life, free from the noise and dust of the town—-then I'm simply wild about fishing as an excuse for getting away. Probably at the end of our fun we'll all be so sick of fish, from having had to eat so much of it, that any one of us will run away and hide when we suspect that the home folks are planning to send us on errands to a fish store. It would be all the same to me if we were going clamming, or hunting, or on any other kind of expedition, as long as it brought us to life under canvas and sleeping in the very place where pure, fresh air is made. Here comes Dick now!"
Young Prescott came swiftly up to his friends.
"Well, I think I've gotten about everything fixed," Dick announced.
"Tell us all the plans," urged Greg eagerly.
"What's the matter with waiting until all the other fellows show up?" Prescott inquired. "That will save me from having to go twice over the same ground. While we're waiting I'll tell you Tom Reade's latest one."
"A funny trick?" queried Greg.