As they had nothing to fear from storms or hoboes in such a retired nook, the boys, having secured their boats in proper fashion against the shore, where they could not rub or get into trouble, amused themselves as they saw fit.
Jack, true to his promise, got out his fishing tackle, and proceeded to try all sorts of lures in the hope of tempting a bass to bite. Finally he took his little dinky, and began to troll, using a phantom minnow. Almost immediately he had a vicious strike, and after a struggle pulled up a fine fish.
“Do it some more!” called out Herb, who was lying on the shore, watching him at the sport.
Five minutes afterward Jack duplicated his feat, only this was even a larger fish than the first. So the time passed. Josh was busily engaged near the tents which he, Herb and George had erected; while Jimmie was doing something aboard the Tramp.
“Where’s Nick?” asked Herb, after a long time had elapsed. “I hope the silly fellow hasn’t gone and lost himself now. A fine time we’d have hunting that fat elephant through all that bush.”
“He was here only a little while ago,” remarked George, looking up.
“Looky yander, an’ ye’ll see him!” exclaimed Jimmie; “over beyant that dead three. Sure, he do be sneakin’ up on something or other, and thryin’ till coax it till kim till him. I say the baste now. Oh! murdher! by all the powers, somebody call out till him to sthop it!”
“Why, what’s the matter with him?” asked Josh, coming to life at the prospect of perhaps seeing his rival for high honors in the farce line duplicate his ridiculous feat of taking a header into the mud and water.
“Look at him, would ye, the crazy wan!” gasped Jimmie, “thryin’ till coax a baste loike that!”
“Is it Jocko?” queried Josh, unable to catch sight of the other just then.