"Say, those fish were fine," declared Richard, feeling his responsibility as host, since Jack did not seem moved to speech. "They were so fresh, I could almost see 'em leaping out of the brook. You must have had good luck."
"First-rate," said the doctor. "Sorry you couldn't come up to the house for dinner, Rich."
"Well, I could have come," admitted Richard cautiously, "but I'm no good presenting regrets for others. Warren and Jack were peeved—"
"You needn't make any excuses for me," interrupted Jack coldly, holding up a throbbing hand behind his back.
"See?" said Richard with a gesture of despair. "What could a fellow do? And I'll bet Winnie cooks fish so you never forget it."
"She's a good cook," Doctor Hugh conceded.
Richard sighed. He wished Rosemary felt more talkative. In his anxiety to entertain his guests, he stumbled on a sore subject.
"I used to go fishing pretty often myself," he said pleasantly. "The first year we were in college, Warren and I went off by ourselves nearly every Saturday afternoon. We made friends with the State wardens and they told us a lot of useful things. Once we saw them stock a stream—that was great. Ever see that, Jack?"
"No," snapped Jack, "and I'm not likely to; the only thing I'll know by the end of this summer will be how many cans of tomatoes the Goldenrod Canning Company has packed this year."
"How do they stock a stream?" asked Rosemary, her curiosity unloosening her tongue.