When they came to the tall poplars which marked the entrance to the park, Silvey looked down and viewed the fruit of their morning's labors with disgust.
"He's awful small," he said shamefacedly. "Throw him into the bushes."
John raised the diminutive perch into the air and regarded it glumly. "Cat'll eat him, I guess."
"Have to sneak home the back way, then," said Silvey.
The return home by way of the railroad tracks was ever their route when a fishing trip had been unsuccessful, for it avoided conveniently all notice by jeering playmates.
"Don't you wish we'd landed that big fellow?" breathed John, half to himself, as he reviewed mentally that thrilling struggle on the pier.
"Just don't you, though!" echoed Bill, regretfully.
They walked on for some minutes in silence. As they left the cement walk for the little footpath which led across the corner vacant lot to a break in the railroad fence, Silvey roused himself.
"What you going to say to your mother?"
John shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. What you going to say to yours?"