“Only four all together,” replied George. “String caught three of those.”
He and John seemed unwilling for some reason to talk very much and they had the appearance of holding something back. Perhaps if it had been lighter it would have been possible to see a guilty look on the faces of both boys.
“Let’s see your fish,” urged Fred. “Don’t be afraid of them. I’m surprised that you didn’t catch more than one, Pop. I expected that you’d bring in at least a dozen and that you’d surely get one bigger than mine; here you are with only four little ones between you. Bring them out anyway.”
John opened the creel and dipping his hand inside brought out a trout about ten inches long and laid it on the mossy bank.
“That’ll do for a start,” grinned Fred, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. He knew that he had made good his boast about catching a larger fish than George. He had been somewhat worried up to the present time for as Grant had said it was never possible to say just what George would do. Now, however, all doubts had been swept from his mind and he was perfectly confident that he had beaten his rival.
“There’s another,” said John, bringing out a second fish, if anything a trifle smaller than the first.
“Huh,” laughed Fred, “I’ll bet that’s the one Pop caught.”
“No, it isn’t,” said John. “I caught those two and this one too,” and he placed a third trout by the side of the other two. All three of them were almost exactly the same size.
“They’re not very large, are they?” said John dubiously.
“Oh, they’ll make fine eating,” exclaimed Fred. “Where’s your other fish though? I want to see the one that Pop caught.”