“Let’s quit for a while,” said Tom. “My arms are lamer than thunder.”
“All right, Tommy.” So they laid aside their paddles, scooped the water up in their hands and drank, and then disposed themselves comfortably in the canoes.
“Is the tide going in or out?” asked Nelson absent-mindedly. Then he wondered why the others laughed at him until he recollected that he was not on salt water. Bob brought his canoe alongside the other and held it there while they bobbed lazily about in the afternoon sunlight.
“Who knows where the fishing-tackle is?” asked Tom.
“I do,” Dan answered, “but we haven’t any bait.”
“I’ll go ashore and dig some. We ought to have some fish for supper.”
“I’ll eat myself all the fish you’ll catch, Tommy,” said Bob. “But go ahead and get your bait. How many lines are there?”
“Two,” said Tom. “You take the other and I bet I’ll catch more’n you do.”
“All right, Izaak Walton. Run away and get your bait. But it’s dollars to doughnuts you won’t find anything but earthworms, and no self-respecting fish will bite at those.”