Robbie Rosson here put his hand to his mouth in the form of a speaking trumpet, and whispered: "How many did you catch, Hal?"
"Just two dozen," I quietly replied, yet not so quietly but Mr. Drever heard me.
"Yes, Ericson," said he sternly, "you stay to make up the number of your fish. But why do you not remember that you have a duty in making up the number of your class at school?"
"I'm very sorry, sir," I said; "but I'll not do it again."
"See that you do not. I will excuse you this time, but only because you were at the fishing." Then he added more kindly, "I have myself lost count of time in the same way. And now let me hear your Latin lesson."
Fortunately I went through the lesson without mistake, and was rewarded by being told to go above Tom Kinlay. As I took my place, however, the next boy to me, Robbie Rosson, gave a great shout of pain, as though a pin had been stuck into him.
"Hello, hello! What's wrong now?" exclaimed the schoolmaster.
"It's nothing, sir," said Robbie, looking extremely uncomfortable.
"Nothing! What for did you cry out like that, then?"
"'Twas one of my fishhooks stuck in his leg, sir," I explained, extracting the offending hook from Rosson's trousers, and putting it back with others into my pocket.