“How long will you give me?” asked the wary Pike, who never made rash wagers.
“Oh! till the holidays if you like; or, if that won't do, till Michaelmas.”
Now the midsummer holidays were six weeks off—boys used not to talk of “vacations” then, still less of “recesses.”
“I think I'll bet you,” said Pike, in his slow way, bending forward carefully, with his keen eyes on this monster; “but it would not be fair to take till Michaelmas. I'll bet you a crown that I catch him before the holidays—at least, unless some other fellow does.”
CHAPTER II.
The day of that most momentous interview must have been the 14th of May. Of the year I will not be so sure; for children take more note of days than of years, for which the latter have their full revenge thereafter. It must have been the 14th, because the morrow was our holiday, given upon the 15th of May, in honour of a birthday.
Now, John Pike was beyond his years wary as well as enterprising, calm as well as ardent, quite as rich in patience as in promptitude and vigour. But Alec Bolt was a headlong youth, volatile, hot, and hasty, fit only to fish the Maelstrom, or a torrent of new lava. And the moment he had laid that wager he expected his crown piece; though time, as the lawyers phrase it, was “expressly of the essence of the contract.”
And now he demanded that Pike should spend the holiday in trying to catch that trout.
“I shall not go near him,” that lad replied, “until I have got a new collar.” No piece of personal adornment was it, without which he would not act, but rather that which now is called the fly-cast, or the gut-cast, or the trace, or what it may be. “And another thing,” continued Pike; “the bet is off if you go near him, either now or at any other time, without asking: my leave first, and then only going as I tell you.”