“Behold the mighty hunter!” exclaimed Billy with an exaggerated bow of mock deference as Walter entered.
“What luck?” asked Tug, as he tied the final knot and reached for the shellac.
Walter rapidly sketched a brief account of his two days at Lonesome Pond, but in his enthusiasm over the deer hunt forgot to mention his double catch of trout. “Anything new here?” he asked finally.
Tug shook his head. “Nothin’ much. Harrison came in with a three-pound brook trout this morning, and unless some one gets in to-night with something better that will give the Senecas the score for this week. Say, the gloom in this little old shanty is something fierce. If it was any one but Harrison there’d be no kick comin’. He’s gettin’ such a swelled head he can’t see anybody outside his own tribe. I’d like to punch it for him,” growled Tug savagely.
“Say,” he added as he looked up, “what’s the matter with you, you grinning Cheshire cat?”
“Nothing much,” replied Walter, “only day before yesterday I landed a double, for a total of five pounds; brook trout, too.”
Tug and Billy fell on him as one. “Say it again! Say it again!” begged Tug as they pinned Walter to the floor and sat on him.
“I got two trout at one cast, and they weighed five pounds. Does that beat it?” gasped Walter, giving up the struggle.
“Counts same as one fish,” whooped Billy joyously.
“Well, we win anyway, for one of them weighed over three and a half,” said Walter, giving a sudden heave that sent Billy sprawling. “Now what’s the matter, you old gloom chaser?”