"Well," muttered Jerry, "seems to me when you set one of those flashlight traps right in the woods of nights you never can tell what kind of a job you're going to get away with."
Will laughed as though amused.
"Why," he went on to say, "don't you understand that's part of the game? The uncertainty of the thing adds to the charm. You never do know exactly what you're going to strike."
"Well," Jerry continued, shaking his head in a contrary fashion as though far from convinced, "I never did take much to the grab-bag business—putting your hand in, and groping around to pull out a prize or a blank."
"Ditto here, Jerry," spoke up Bluff; "I prefer to know what I'm trying for, and then chasing after it for all I'm worth."
"Oh, well, what's the use of talking?" Will concluded. "Many men, many minds. It's a mighty good thing everybody doesn't think alike. Variety is the spice of life, they say. But excuse me, fellows; I've got some work to do developing the snaps I took yesterday."
That was the last they saw of Will for some time. Once he buried himself in that fascinating photographic labor to which he was devoted heart and soul, it required some strong incentive such as a summons to dinner, to make him break away.
After noon had come and gone, the boys settled down into something like the old life. Less was said about events that had occurred, while new plans were being broached for the immediate future.
Having secured some live bait with a little seine made of mosquito netting, Bluff and Frank tried the fishing, using the boat to reach what seemed to be good ground. A hidden ledge of rock ran from the point, and Frank judged that where the water was something like ten feet deep there ought to be bass.
His figuring proved to be correct, for they were soon busily engaged in playing the fish that struck the live minnows. At times the work became even exciting, as a larger and more gamy fish took hold.