Buster’s interest was so taken up with what was going on near him that he forgot his own line for the time being, until a quick summons at the other end announced that one of the said finny relations seemed anxious to follow the first victim to the shore.
Then both boys were kept busy pulling in hand over hand. They succeeded in landing both prizes, which fact made them very joyful.
“Only needs one more to complete the first circle, though I think I’d like two for my share, Josh, and so might all the rest. You see there’s a heap of waste when you come to take off the head and tail. Let’s hurry up and get ’em while the bitin’s good. You never can tell when fish will quit takin’ hold.”
It was certainly less than half an hour after they first started off when the two sportsmen came strolling back to the bright camp fire dangling a pretty string of still lively fish between them on a little pole.
“Two apiece, and one left for luck!” announced Buster, triumphantly, as the other fellows jumped to their feet with expressions of pleasure to look the catch over.
“They ought to be cleaned right away, and a little salt rubbed inside so they’ll keep nice and fresh over night,” said Josh, “so let’s get busy, Buster.”
“But don’t you think that ought to be our part of the business?” asked George, although there was not very much animation in his manner, for George hated to handle the job of cleaning fish, though when it came to eating them no one ever knew him to make any objection.
“Now that’s kind of you, George, to offer to do the thing for us,” observed Buster, sweetly; “especially since we know how you detest the job. Thank you, but as our hands are in, Josh and me can attend to them all right.”
Josh, however, did not look overly well pleased when he heard Buster say this. Truth to tell, he had already arranged it in his wicked heart that George should be trapped into “doing something for his keep.”