He caught sight of Tom Drift at another table, and nodded and waved his green can to him; he informed every boy within hearing distance that it was certain to be a fine day, whatever it looked like now; and he made the wildest and most indiscriminate promises to entertain his whole acquaintance at no end of a trout supper on the spoils of that day’s sport. Twenty times during breakfast did he pull me out and look impatiently at my minute-hand slowly making its way from eight to nine; and as soon as ever the meal was over he rushed upstairs like mad for his rod and bag, and then tore down again four steps at a time, nearly knocking the head master over at the bottom.
“Gently, my man,” said that gentleman, recognising in this cannon-ball of a young fellow his little travelling companion. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“I beg your pardon, doctor,” said Charlie; “did I hurt you?”
“Not a bit. So you are going to fish to-day?”
“Yes, sir,” said the beaming Charlie. “I say, sir, do you think it’ll be a fine day?”
“I hope so—good-bye. I suppose this can will be full when you come back?”
“Good-bye, sir,” said Charlie, secretly resolving that if fortune favoured him he would present the two finest of his trout to the doctor.
He found Drift ready for him when he reached that young gentleman’s study.
Besides his rod, Tom had a somewhat cumbersome bag, which, as it carried most of the provisions for the whole party, he was not a little surly about being burdened with.
Charlie, of course, thought it was his and Tom’s dinner.