“Better leave the light burning then,” said one of the men who had been in Hampton that afternoon.
This was done, and presently snores and heavy breathing showed the men were asleep. Tubby could not see what resting places they had found, but assumed that there must be bunks around the edge of the hut, as is usual in such fishermen’s shelters.
Before retiring, the men had shoved the paper into the wallet, but for some reason, probably they didn’t think of it during their preparations for sleep, the wallet had been left on the table. It was almost directly below the chimney. As Tubby looked at it, he had a sudden idea.
“Got a bit of wire, Hiram?” he asked, knowing that the mechanical genius of the Eagle Patrol usually carried such odds and ends with him.
“Guess I’ve got a bit of brass wire right here,” rejoined Hiram, “but it isn’t very long.”
“Long enough,” commented Tubby, scrutinizing the bit handed to him, “now, if you had some string——”
“Got a bit of fish line.”
“Couldn’t be better. Give it to me.”
Much mystified, Hiram watched the fat boy bend the bit of wire and tie it to the string.
“Going fishing?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.