“You don’t think that I am here because I am enjoying it, do you?” he replied.
Then it was that Bob realized that the tension on his line had ceased. The fish was gone. Evidently the splashing around in the water had been enough to slacken the line and the fish had taken advantage of the opportunity to make its getaway.
“Well, the fish is gone,” said Bob. “You are a fine help. Come on out of the water.”
“What’s going on here?” called a deep voice from the bank.
Bob looked around to see who had asked the question. He saw a tall, lithe, dark-complexioned man in a grayish-green uniform. He wore a broad-brimmed felt hat, with the crown coming to a peak, and had a badge on his shirt.
“We’re fishing, and Bill fell into the water,” said Bob.
In the meantime Bill scrambled up the bank.
“I am the District Forester. My name’s Cecil. Have you a fishing license? Have you a campfire permit?”
“What I should have had was a bathing permit,” remarked Bill as he started to wring the water out of his clothes.