As the fish were nearly two yards in length, it was evident that only one need be brought aboard for food, so one was sent sailing down the stream and the other was, with no little difficulty, lifted to the deck. Alex danced about his prize joyously.
“Why, look here!” Case exclaimed. “This fish hasn’t got any scales!”
“Do you think I’ve been going through all this to get a sturgeon?” asked Alex. “I should think not!”
“The catfish,” Clay explained, “belongs to the bullhead tribe, and has a hard, tough hide instead of scales.”
“Is it good to eat?” asked Jule.
“Of course it’s good to eat,” answered Alex. “Do you think I’d go to the floor of the river with a fish that wasn’t fit to eat?”
“I’d like to know why they call these things catfish,” Case exclaimed, turning the monster with his foot.
“Huh!” snickered Jule. “They have back fences at the bottom of the river, and these fish climb up and give midnight concerts.”
“Jule,” said Alex gravely, “your imagination seems to be getting the best of your conscience. If we had an Ananias club on board this boat, you surely would be the Perpetual Grand.”
“All right,” Jule said, “when you get a club formed I’ll take the office. But who’s going to cook this fish?” he went on.