“It doesn’t look like one,” said Winona.
“M’m, not exactly,” said her brother. “You ought to be interested in it, though, Win—it’s a catfish.”
“You can eat catfish,” said Louise, quite calmly. “In fact, I believe they’re considered very good eating. I don’t know but I’d rather have them than trout.”
“Especially if you can’t get the trout,” added Tom.
“If you can’t get what you want, you must want what you can get.” So she baited her line again.
“Well, what is it this time?” inquired Tom next time she pulled her line in. The rest had had fair luck.
“Probably another pussy-fish,” said Louise resignedly. But this time it was a real perch, and after that it was a sunfish, and then two more catfish. And presently there was enough for supper, and by the time they got back they knew it would be supper-getting time. Winona was cooking supper that week. So they put the fish in the empty lunch-basket and paddled for home. Louise took Billy’s paddle, and Billy trolled all the way. He didn’t get anything, but he enjoyed himself.
“Who’s that on the dock?” asked Tom as they neared the Camp Karonya landing. “Are they waiting for us?”
“Tom’s afraid the farmer with the ducks has come around the other way,” said Louise. “No, Tommy, my dear, that’s only Mr. Sloane, who is a sort of unofficial uncle to Camp Karonya. We’re supposed to have rented that dock from him, but he comes there and fishes just as much as if we hadn’t.”
“Sort of a fourth sub-mascot?” said Billy. “Yes, I remember—the old man who helped you out about the scows when you were building the float.”