CHAPTER XII
WE COLLECT TOLL
After about six weeks and ten years the fishing boat came chugging up the creek. Anyway it seemed as long as that before it came. The chugging of that engine sounded good.
“Now for the eats,” Garry said.
Hervey said, “They’ll have a lot of perch and some bass and maybe some soft-shell crabs.”
“Isn’t there anything in this creek?” the kid wanted to know.
“Nothing except water,” Hervey told him. “Anyway we haven’t got any fishline, have we? Thank goodness we’ve got some matches, we can start a fire.”
“We’ll fry them brown, hey?” Pee-wee said, all excited.
“Any color will suit me,” I told him.
“They won’t be any color at all when we get through with them,” Bert said.
By that time the boat was quite near and we could see a couple of baskets of fish in the cockpit, and there were two men. Oh boy, how I longed to eat them, I mean the fish. Pretty soon one of the men shouted for us to open the bridge, so they could pass.