He threw aside coat and hat, and waded in. The professor watched him with expressionless face. Tom secured the runaway net, and came out, dripping to his armpits, at the submaster’s side. But when he offered the net the other only asked anxiously:
“Do you think you can land him? The leader’s almost cut through, and I’m afraid to bring him in any farther.”
Tom hesitated, net in hand.
“That will be all right,” continued the other; “I promise you I’ll never tell that you had a hand in it.”
Tom flushed.
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said. “Hold him steady, and I’ll get him.”
He knelt on the rock and looked for the trout. It was nearly two yards away and well under the water. He put one foot over the edge and groped about until he found a support for it below the surface. But even then his arm was too short to get the net to the fish.
“Can’t you coax him in another foot?” he asked anxiously.
“I’ll try,” answered “Old Crusty.” “If the line will hold——”
He wound gingerly. The gleaming sides of the trout came toward the surface. [Tom reached out with the net], slipped it quietly into the pool, [and moved it toward the prey].