“They ought to be hungry enough to eat tongue even if they don’t care for it as a steady diet,” he thought. Then it occurred to him that perhaps the noise of the chopping had scared the fish away and that it might be some time before they would venture back to that part of the lake. So he kept his patience and resigned himself to a long wait if necessary. Another ten minutes passed and still no bite came to encourage him.
“Boughs all cut and beds made. How about your part of the bargain?” Bob shouted from the door of the cabin.
“Nothing doing yet,” Jack had to call back, much chagrined at his failure.
“Well, you’d better hurry up: it’s getting dark pretty fast and I’m getting hungry,” Bob shouted back, as he disappeared in the cabin.
“Hope he don’t think I’m enjoying this,” Jack said to himself as he, for the twentieth time, started to pull in his line.
Then, suddenly, his heart gave a jump as he felt a strong tug on the line. He gave a quick yank but, to his disgust, failed to hook the fish.
“Hope you like it well enough to try again,” he muttered, as he put a fresh piece of the tongue on the hook.
To his great joy the fish did, for he had hardly gotten the hook in the water before it was seized again and this time he pulled in a speckled trout fully twenty inches long.
“There’s one good meal ahead of the game anyhow,” he thought as he took the hook from the trout’s mouth and baited it again.
The fish had evidently returned in force, and for the next half hour the boy was kept busy pulling them in as rapidly as he could handle them. Then, knowing that he had as many as they could possibly use, he began to wind in the line.