“Because, after all, we can’t improve on that trite old proverb which says that honesty is the best policy, can we?”
“No, sir,” Tom responded.
They left the thicket together and began the ascent of the meadow hill. Twilight was gathering, and a sharp-edged crescent of silver glowed in the evening sky above the tower of the school-hall. It was the submaster who broke the silence first.
“And yet there are fine trout in the big pool,” he said, musingly.
Tom sighed unconsciously. “Aren’t there, though?” he asked.
“I took one out one day last spring that weighed nearly three pounds,” continued the submaster.
Tom sighed again. “Did you?” he asked dolefully.
“Yes; and—look here, Pierson, tell me, how would you like to fish there as often as you wanted through the trout season?”
“I’d like it!” answered Tom, briefly and succinctly, wishing, nevertheless, that the submaster wouldn’t pursue such a harrowing subject.
“Would you? Well, now, I haven’t the least doubt in the world but that I can obtain permission for you. Mr. Greenway is a friend of mine, and while he wouldn’t care to allow the whole school to go in there, I’m certain that——”