"Gee!" he said, "I'll be glad when I can take these poles out! They're mighty uncomfortable."
"Did you bring two?" asked Roy.
"Sure! When you see the way those trout bite you'll want to take a hand yourself. I borrowed Tom's. Otto Ferris had to come nosing around and saw it, but he won't tell. If he does I'll make him wish he hadn't!"
"He might tell Horace," said Roy uneasily. "If Horace thought he could get me into trouble he'd do it mighty quick."
"Oh, he's a back-number," answered Chub gaily. "This way, over the fence and across the pasture; it's only about a quarter of a mile from here."
Soon they were treading their way along the bank of a fairly wide brook, pushing through the alders and young willows. After a while Chub stopped and jointed his pole.
"You're going to fish, aren't you?" he asked.
Roy shook his head.
"No, especially since there's a chance that Ferris will tell Horace. I don't want to get hung up for the Hammond game. You go ahead, if you've got to, and I'll watch."
"All right, if you won't. What's that?"