He looked dolefully toward the river, as though disliking very much to give up when the acme of the sport had just been reached.
“I hope you’ll take his mate another day, Toby,” Jack told him, hopefully. “Don’t forget the old saying that ‘there’s just as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,’ and it applies to the Paradise River in the bargain. And now I’ll wash up, so I can get busy with my photographic work, as it’s about ten o’clock, and the sun as strong as I’d want.”
He seemed to have made up his mind just what pictures appealed most to him, judging from the business-like way he went about his work. Toby stood by ready to assist in any way possible, though he did not happen to be as greatly interested in photography as his comrade. So after about half an hour Jack had accomplished his task.
“I think they ought to turn out pretty fine,” was his finishing comment, as he closed his camera, the present of the lady who had engaged him to combine business with pleasure on this camping trip. 109 “If there’s anything wrong the fault will be wholly mine, because the conditions certainly couldn’t be improved on.”
“I suppose it’s home for us now, Jack?” asked Toby.
“We might as well be making a start,” he was told. “Perhaps I’ll want to snap off another picture on the way, because one or two things struck me as worth while.”
Accordingly Toby lifted the string of fish from the water, where they had been keeping cool. He grinned as he pretended to stagger under the load.
“Believe me, they’re going to turn out something of a weight, Jack.”
“We’ll fix that soon enough, and share the burden,” the other told him, as he picked up a stout pole, and proceeded to fasten the fish to its centre. “Many hands make light work, they say, and when we carry our prize bag of fish between us the strain will hardly be noticed.”
It proved just as Jack had said; what would have been a heavy weight for one to carry was a mere bagatelle for both, thanks to that pole, which was some six feet in length.