Shortly after that the fat boy sat down on the bank with his line in the water, thoroughly at peace with the world, and content to remain where he was so long as the food held out.
Stacy had not been fishing long when he heard a horse approaching, but did not turn his head, his eyes remaining fixed on the fish line that caused a little ripple in the stream as it split the current.
“Hello, boy!” called a voice behind him.
“Same to you,” returned Stacy.
“Fishing?”
“No. Just teaching this grub how to swim.”
“Say, you! You’re too fresh. I’ve a good mind to throw you into the river,” growled the newcomer.
“Better not. I’ll get wet.”
“Where do you come from?” demanded the man, his voice sharp and incisive.
“Up Silver Creek way. I came down here on the river packet to get away from the forest fire.”