“There’s a good landing by that tree yonder, Jack,” remarked Josh.
“But we’re not quite ready to pull in yet a while,” the commodore announced.
“What’s the hurry, Josh?” asked Buster, again working at his long and strong fish line.
“Oh, I thought George wanted to get out and start right away back,” answered the other with a dry chuckle. “He’ll never be happy until he can have all the comforts of home, including the afternoon extra to read.”
“Forget it!” snapped George. “I’ve always been able to take things as they came as well as the next one, and I reckon I can stand what you fellows do. Because I grumble a little once in a great while, that’s no sign I’m not having a good time. Some of my folks must have been sailors, I guess, and it runs in the blood. Don’t pay any attention when you hear me complain.”
“We’ll try not to, George,” promised Josh blithely; “we’ll have to remember the source, and then forget it.”
“There, now, I’ve got the silly old line untangled,” announced Buster; “and I’ll let the hook and sinker trail after us, just to make believe I’m fishing. It’ll do me a heap of good to feel the twirl as the hook goes around with the swivel—sort of revive old memories like.”
He lay there by the broad stern of the boat amusing himself after his fashion. Josh could not resist the temptation to warn him.
“Better look out for yourself, Buster,” he remarked seriously. “Some hungry fish might snap at your bare hook and get caught. If you were taken off your guard the next thing you knew you’d be overboard.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, either,” mentioned George.