As Egan said this he held up his bandaged hand. His injuries were by no means so serious as everybody thought they were going to be, but still the wounded member was not of much use to him. When he found that he was to be one of Mack’s squad, he frankly told the young officer that he could not help him; but Mack would have taken him if he had no hands at all, for he was fond of his company. He was afterward glad that he did take him, for no one could have handled the Idlewild during the pursuit with greater skill than Egan did. If they had had much walking to do Hopkins’ weak ankle would have given out; but he did full duty as a foremast hand, and proved to be of as much use as anybody.
“We don’t expect you to do any work,” said Curtis. “Let Don work, and you sit by and see the fun. Either one of the other boats will lead you to a good fishing-ground. Then all Don will have to do will be to watch Hutton or Farwell and do just as he does, and he’ll be sure to get a rise; but whether or not he will catch a trout I can’t say.”
Breakfast being over the boys paired off as Curtis had instructed, launched the canoes and paddled away, Bert and his fat mentor, Hutton, going toward the lower end of the pond, and the others turning toward the upper end. The fish were breaking water on all sides of them, but Farwell did not stop until he and Hopkins had run their canoe into a little cove at the further end of the pond, which was fed by clear cold streams that came down from the hills.
“In warm weather this is the best fishing-ground I know of,” said he, as he beckoned Don to come alongside, “and I don’t think it is too late in the season to have a little fun here now. You see, trout like cold water, and they find plenty of it here. Now, Gordon, if you will let me see your fly-book, I will make a selection for you while you are putting your rod together.”
Don handed over the book which contained about three dozen flies that Curtis had picked out for him in Boston. He did not know the name of a single one of them, but Farwell did, and after running his eye over them he said that Don had a very good assortment.
“As it is broad daylight we want small flies,” Farwell remarked. “The sun doesn’t shine very brightly, and neither is it entirely obscured by the clouds—the weather is rather betwixt and between; so we will take a gaudy fly, like this scarlet ibis, for a stretcher, and a white miller for the other. Then the trout can take their choice. Now, where’s your leader—a cream-colored one. Bright and glistening ones are apt to scare the fish, and they generally fail when the pinch comes. It’s very provoking to have your leader break just about the time you are ready to slip your dip-net under a trout you have worked hard for. I hold that two flies on one line are enough. They are sometimes more than a novice wants to manage, especially when he catches a weed or a root with one hook and a trout with the other, or when two heavy fish take his flies at the same instant and run off in different directions. Three hooks on a line are allowable only when you are out of grub, and the trout don’t run over fifty to the pound. But then we don’t catch such fish in these ponds.”
The Southerners listened with all their ears and closely watched Farwell, who, while he was talking, deftly fastened the flies he had selected upon the leader, bent the leader on to the line, and was about to pass the fully equipped rod back to its owner, when a large trout shot out of the water about fifty feet away, giving them a momentary glimpse of his gleaming sides before he fell back into his native element. Don withdrew the hand he had extended for the rod and looked at Farwell.
“Shall I take him for you and show you how it is done?” asked the latter.
“Yes,” answered all the boys, at once.
“Well, in order to do it, I shall have to throw the flies right over that swirl. What are you going to do with that paddle, Hopkins?”