“Tell me, bye, what’s this about catchin’ the biggest fish at Woodcraft Camp?” he asked eagerly.
Walter explained the contest fully, and told how eager he was to score over the Senecas.
“’Tis aisy,” broke in Pat.
“What do you mean?” asked Walter, a bit puzzled.
Pat struck one side of his nose with a dirty forefinger and winked solemnly. “Oi wonder now, have yez forgot the big pickerel yez have lyin’ down on the raft? ’Twill weigh ten pounds if it weighs an ounce.”
“But that isn’t mine!” exclaimed Walter. “It’s yours.”
“Is ut now?” said Pat, scratching his head. “Shure Oi disremimber ketchin’ ut. Oi’m thinkin’ yez must hev caught ut in yer shlape an’ didn’t know ut.”
Walter laughed and thanked his companion heartily, while he refused the gift. Then seeing the look of hurt disappointment on Pat’s face he hastened to make clear why he could not accept the fish. “You see,” he concluded, “a Scout’s honor is always to be trusted, and it would not be honorable to try to win with a fish I did not catch myself. A man’s honor is the greatest thing he possesses.”
The other pondered this in silence for a few minutes trying to adjust his mind to a new idea. When he spoke it was slowly, as one feeling his way.
“Yez mane that ter score wid thot fish would be loike hittin’ a man when he’s down, or shtalin’ from a blind pup.”