“I thought I was going to be,” said George grimly. “I was getting pretty tired.”
“Where’s your rod?” inquired Fred.
“At the other end of the line. A steel rod doesn’t float, you know.”
“That’s true,” laughed Fred. “Haul in that line, John.”
Of course all the line unrolled from the reel before the rod was rescued but it was finally brought safely to shore. A large section of the line, however, had to be sacrificed as it was found almost impossible to untangle the mass that had wound itself around George’s legs and ankles, and a knife was necessary to free him.
“Where are your fish, Pop?” inquired Fred. “I suppose you dropped them all when you fell in,” and he nudged Grant as he spoke.
“I had only one,” replied George ruefully. “He did fall in and I lost him.”
“What kind was it?”
“A black bass.”
“A big one, I suppose.”