“That was sure one on you, old man,” he said, when he had breath enough.
“Humph,” Tom grunted, disgustedly, “it sure was a sell. I thought I had old Pete cinched that time. However,” he added, “I don’t see that you fellows have much to say. You haven’t even caught a sunfish.”
“Not so you could notice it,” Dick agreed cheerfully. “There’s plenty of time yet, though, and all things come to him who waits. I’m right on the job, when it comes to waiting.”
Bert, who had been thinking his own thoughts, suddenly broke into the conversation with an irrelevant “Say, fellows, did you ever hear the story of the man who went for a sail on a windy day——”
“And a man coming out of the cabin asked him,” Tom broke in, “if the moon had come up yet, and he answered, ‘No, but everything else has’? Yes, we’ve heard that old chestnut cracked before.”
“Well, it just struck me,” Bert mused, “that it fitted your case pretty well.”
“I suppose it does, in a way,” Tom admitted, “but you just wait and see if I don’t land that old rascal before night.”
“Go in and win, my boy, and take my blessing. It doesn’t make much difference who does the catching so long as he is caught,” Dick said, and once more leaned his broad back against the tree with a sigh of content.
But into Tom’s head had come a scheme, and he determined to carry it out at the very first opportunity. For a long time the trio sat on the grassy bank, listening to the myriad indescribable sounds of spring. They watched the gorgeous butterfly as it winged its lazily graceful way from blossom to blossom, and heard the buzzing of the bee as it invaded the heart of flowerland, and stole its nectar. The perfumed air, hot from the touch of the sun, stole upon their senses, and made them delightfully lazy.
Suddenly, Bert gave a jerk to his line and landed a fair-sized pickerel. Their luck had changed, and in a short time they had a very good mess of fish. But the great pickerel seemed farther from showing himself than ever.