“And I was the discoverer, while you reap all the credit, have all the fun!” dolefully lamented Waldo, when the catch was displayed with an ostentation which may have covered just a tiny bit of malice. “I'll put a tin ear on you, Amerigo Vespucius!”
“All right; we'll have a merry go together, after you've cleaned the trout for cooking, lad,” laughed his elder.
Waldo gazed reproachfully into that bright face for a brief space, then bowed head in joined hands, to sob in heartfelt fashion, his sturdy frame shaking with poorly suppressed grief—or mirth?
Bruno passed an arm caressingly over those shoulders, murmuring words of comfort, earnestly promising to never sin again in like manner, provided he could find forgiveness now. And then, with deft touch, that same hand held his garment far enough for its mate to let slip a wriggling trout adown his brother's back.
Waldo howled and jumped wildly, as the cold morsel slipped along his spine, and ducking out of reach, the elder jester called back:
“Land him, boy, and you've caught another fish!”
Although laughing heartily himself, Professor Featherwit deemed it a part of wisdom to interfere now, and, ere long, matters quieted down, all hands engaged in preparing the morning meal, for which all teeth were now fairly on edge.
If good nature had been at all disturbed, long before that breakfast was despatched it was fully restored, and of the trio, Waldo appeared to be the most enthusiastic over present prospects.
“Why, just think of it, will you?” he declaimed, as well as might be with mouth full of crisply fried mountain trout, “where the game comes begging for you to bowl it over, and the very fish try to jump into your pockets—”
“Or down your back, Amerigo,” interjected Bruno, with a grin.