“Catch your own fish, and cook ’em on the hook. Put on fresh bait, Uncle Hip, and toss me another one. You folks go get yourselves poles and lines if you wish to fish in my puddle,” suggested Stacy.
Acting upon Tom’s suggestion, the guide hurried off to fetch fishing tackle.
“Don’t forget the salt,” Stacy called after him. “Fish without salt isn’t so appetizing, but on a pinch I can eat them ’most any old way.”
“Gluttons always can,” observed Emma under her breath.
“Here! Give me that pole. I’ll catch my own food, if you please,” announced the fat boy, taking the rod from Lieutenant Wingate.
“Oh, very well. Here comes Jim with more tackle,” answered Hippy resignedly.
By the time the guide reached them Stacy had made a cast and landed a trout. Without getting up, he swung the fish over into the pool of boiling water, and grinned to himself as he observed that his companions were watching him frowningly.
“How long shall I cook it?” he asked.
“To taste,” answered the guide, passing rods to the other members of the party.
“I am amazed that you should wait to cook your fish before eating,” suggested Emma.