“It worked all right. Knew he just could not stand it. Fresh fish for supper, Amos.”
But the day was warm, and Dolph knew the folly of going out to cast his flies while the sun was high and the sky clear.
Along about four in the afternoon the conditions changed, just as he had expected would be the case, judging from his observation of the weather.
Some clouds came up and obscured the sun. A gentle breeze, and from the right quarter, too, created a ripple on the surface of the erstwhile smooth lake.
So Dolph jumped into one of the canoes and set out. He dearly loved to feel the thrill that came when he felt a sturdy bronze-backed finny warrior tugging at the end of his line, now leaping wildly out of the water, and then trying to find some sharp-pointed rock on the bottom of the lake against which to drag the delicate leader, so as to weaken it, and give him a chance to break away.
There was no end of sport.
Everything seemed favorable, and for some time Dolph had the time of his life tempting the eager fish, playing them, sometimes two at once, and capturing three times as many as the camp could use.
But, like the true sportsman that he was, Dolph returned all his catch to the water after the limit he set had been reached.
Tiring finally of the fun, and Amos looking as though anxious to get hold of the catch in order to prepare the fish for supper, Dolph came in.
“Give ’em a try, Teddy, just to see what fighters they have up here in this cool water,” he remarked, as his chum came down to admire the catch.