While Tom and Harry were still fishing darkness fell. The two Gridley boys fished on in silence, adding frequently to the two crotched stick "strings" that flopped on the end of the pier.
"We've thirty-nine perch. That's enough, even for a hungry crowd like ours," said Tom at last, after lighting the lantern.
"Here is the fortieth, then," called Hazelton, as he felt a tug at his line. He landed a pound perch almost under Tom's nose.
"Good enough business, this," declared Tom contentedly. "I hope the fellows have everything else ready."
Tom carried the lantern; each boy carried a string of fish. As they neared camp, Danny Grin espied them, and ran forward to see the size of the catch.
"Here they are!" called Dalzell. "They've fish enough to feed a fat men's boarding house!"
"Bring them here," called Dick from a board beside which he and
Greg crouched, each with a knife in hand.
One after another the fish were scaled and cleaned with a speed known only to old campers. Dave had two frying pans hot over a fire. In went the perch, sputtering in the fat and giving forth appetizing odors.
"My, but they're going to taste good!" declared Danny Grin.
Leaving Greg to finish with the cleaning of the fish Dick passed to another campfire, throwing into a hot pan the material for fried potatoes.