"Sure," it was Frank's turn to be sarcastic. "Don't you know that's a part of every dough boy's outfit—so he can go fishing for the Huns?"
"Peace, peace, my children," entreated Betty plaintively. "Can't we ever talk about anything without getting into an argument?"
"But this isn't an argument; it's a suggestion," said Allen. "Though I expect the scorn and ridicule of an unthinking populace. Perhaps you have heard of the old-fashioned, but sometimes effective, string and bent pin?"
The boys shouted, and Allen bent upon them a pitying glance.
"It is even as I expected," he said sorrowfully. "Well, I have done my best—"
"I say old man," Roy interrupted suddenly, proving an unexpected ally, "I'm for you. Of course we won't get anything, but it will be an adventure. And gee, some fresh fish would taste good!"
So they went to work, eager as children on a lark. The girls managed to furnish enough pins for the hooks, and when the available string gave out, the boys made use of stout, withy vines as substitutes.
And, strange as it may seem, they actually were successful. The little stream proved to be full to overflowing with fish, small to be sure, but still eatable.
"Gee, I never saw anything like it!" cried Roy as he excitedly pulled out one fish after another. "They seem to be eager to be caught. And to think that we actually scoffed at the idea."
"That's what genius always has to bear," put in Allen, resignedly, while Betty gave him a side-wise glance from under her long lashes.