“You better git! Come round this brook again, and see what happens to you!”
“Well,” chuckled Springer, as they pushed their way through the thickets, “this has been a real lul-lively morning. We’ve had sport enough for one day.”
“I’m glad you called to me just when you did, Phil,” said Rodney. “I was getting a touch of that old blazing rage that always makes me lose my head complete.”
“A tut-touch of it! Great Caesar! I wish you could have seen your own face. I thought you were going to obliterate Mr. Simpson then and there.”
At the camp Stone and Crane were waiting, and the smoke of the brisk fire rose into the still air. The sight of the white tent, the dancing blaze and their waiting friends was good indeed to the returning anglers, who gave a hail as they approached. Sile answered the call with a question:
“Did you fellers ketch anything? I’ll bate yeou ain’t had a bit of fun.”
“Oh, is that sus-so!” scoffed Phil hurrying forward with the basket. “Fun! We’ve had more than you could sus-shake a stick at.”
“But have you ketched anything?” persisted Crane.
Springer waited until he could place the basket before them and lift the cover. When this was done they broke into exclamations of admiration and delight.
“Jiminy cripes!” sputtered Sile. “Here’s a breakfast fit for a king. Yeou must have had fun, sure enough.”