“I’m not as bad as that I hope,” laughed John. “It would be awful, wouldn’t it, if I couldn’t keep out of the rain?”
“You might stand on your head,” suggested Fred. “Your feet sticking straight up in the air could take the place of umbrellas. They’re big enough so that they’d shelter you, all right.”
“Look here,” exclaimed John, “that sounds like one of Pop’s remarks. I hope you’re not getting as bad as he is.”
“By the way,” said Fred, “where is he? He ought to be back pretty soon.”
“He’s still fishing,” said Grant. “I guess he hasn’t had very good luck.”
“He ought to have taken one of the canoes, anyway,” said John. “He can’t catch anything just standing on the shore.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Grant. “He might get some small perch or bass.”
“What I want is a good big trout,” exclaimed Fred. “I’ll consider this summer a failure unless I get one.”
“Maybe we’ll each get one,” said Grant. “They say there are lots of them around here.”
“Not so much in the lake as in the streams running into it, I guess,” remarked John. “It seems to me that the big trout are always in small pools.”