“This looks nice and social,” said George Warren, surveying the three boats, with their eleven occupants. “It’s the first time we have all been out here together this year. We ought to make this a prize contest.”
“Good!” exclaimed Harvey. “What do you say to one of those new dollar yachting-caps at the store, for the one that catches the most fish? We’ll each put in nine cents to pay for it. Got any money, fellows?”
“Lots of it,” replied young Tim. “We’re in for it.”
“They’re regular millionaires, nowadays, since they made those lobster-pots,” remarked Henry Burns.
“There’ll be one cent left over,” said young Joe Warren. “What do we do with that?”
“That goes with the hat,” said Henry Burns. “You can buy peanuts with it, if you win, Joe.”
“Well, I’ve got the first fish, anyway,” cried young Joe, who had felt a tremendous yank on his line.
Up came a big flounder, which was skittering about, the next moment, in the bottom of the boat.
“I’ve got a bigger one,” cried Joe Hinman, excitedly; but, when he began to haul in, nothing came of it.
Little Tim Reardon, who had given a sly tug at Joe’s line when the other wasn’t looking, snickered.