"Of course it'll take a few days of patient study of the game to enable you to make big catches," was Dick's consoling assurance.
"I'd put in all summer, if I were sure I could master the trick in the end," said Dave.
Greg said nothing, but felt less resolute about it than Darrin did.
"Why, it's only fifteen minutes before noon," cried Dave, glancing at his watch.
"Then it's high time to be going back," nodded Dick, "in case the fellows are depending upon us for their meal. If Tom has a lot of bass, though, we can store these trout in our new ice box—-the cave."
"And let the Man with the Haunting Face slip in there, after dark, and help himself!" grumbled Darry. "Somehow that idea doesn't make any hit with me."
"Then we'll have to put in the afternoon," proposed Prescott, "in building a log-lined pit in the ground and moving ice from the cave to fill it. Then we can keep our fish supplies right up under our noses in front of the tent."
"That's a little more satisfactory in the way of an idea," nodded
Darry.
For the purpose of taking a short cut they soon left the brook, going through a stretch of woods on their way to camp.
Hardly had these high school boys entered the woods when they halted, for an instant, in intense consternation.