“All sorts,” said Phil; and then he proceeded in his whimsical faltering way, to tell of the encounter with Jim Simpson.
“Just one cuc-crack, that’s all Rod had to hand him,” he finished. “It cooked his goose quicker than you could say Juj-Juj-Juj-Jack Rob-bib-bib-binson.”
“It sartain wasn’t so very quick,” returned Sile, “unless it was done quicker than yeou can say Jack Robinson. I’ll clean the fish. Ben, yeou get ready to fry ’em.”
“Where’s Sleuth?” asked Grant.
“Oh, he isn’t up yet,” said Stone.
“Not up?” whooped Springer. “Then I’ll pup-pull him out in a hurry.”
But Piper had heard them and was dressing. Presently he came forth, looking grouchy enough, and had no word of applause for the success of the anglers.
Nevertheless, when the fish were cooked he ate his share.
CHAPTER IX.
CARL DUCKELSTEIN FISHES.