“Yes. I should have kept my wits about me and have done it, too.”
“What was that, Phil?”
“Snatched up my camera and managed to snap off a picture of how you lured your bear into the trap. Some of our boy friends down Brewster-way would like to see it. They may be inclined to doubt more or less when they hear the story; but that would be proof they’d have to accept as genuine, Lub.”
The fat boy seemed to consider it for a brief time.
When he turned to meet Phil’s gaze again there was a whimsical expression on his face that spoke volumes.
“Well, on the whole, Phil,” he went on to say, “I guess I’m just as glad you did forget to grab up your camera that time. You see, in telling a story a fellow might accidentally embellish just a little more each time; and a picture is a terrible accusation, for it keeps you pinned down close to facts. There, I’ve got a bite on two lines. Whoof, hold on!”
[CHAPTER V—X-RAY STRAPS ON HIS SNOW-SHOES]
Long before evening came around Lub had time to recover from his excessive labors of the day, so that he was in good trim to start supper.
“It wasn’t so much the strain of fishing, and attending to half a dozen tip-ups that knocked me out, as that warm little dance the bear led me, you see, fellows,” he explained, when some one chanced to remark that he got up on his feet as though his knee-joints were stiff and rusty.
“Yes,” said Ethan, drily, “this thing of luring is always hard on the muscles and nerves. Only the most rugged constitutions can stand it.”