Ned had been listening eagerly, and approved the scheme heartily, only wondering why it had not occurred to them before. When Joe finished, Ned raised the question of bait, but was put off by Joe's saying there would be time enough to get all the grasshoppers and crickets they wanted, and maybe a few frogs, so they went to work, coats off, and sleeves rolled up in a businesslike manner. In the course of an hour or more they had that part of the work all done, and a short time afterwards they started up to the stable with their arms full of their invention, and deposited it complete in the box under the seat of Ned's buckboard.
"Now for bait," said Joe; "you take this box and keep along by that old stone wall and look sharp for crickets. There are lots of old boards and stones there; turn them all over and you'll get enough. I'll stick to this field and get the 'hoppers."
They separated, and were soon hard at work, both using their hands to catch the wily bait; Ned said he never had any luck with 'hoppers or crickets that were caught with a butterfly net. After an hour they decided they had enough, and turned down toward a small stream which ran through the meadow, and got a dozen or more frogs, and so complete in all the details of their plan they came into the house and sat down to lunch. It seemed to both the boys entirely too long, and Joe fidgeted so much that his father noticed it, and tried to find out what the cause was.
"No, nothing's the matter, only we want to hurry up and get to the lake. We've got a scheme, and later we're going to have a swim."
"What is it, Joe?" said Mr. Thompson. "What's up? You're not going to catch that Jonah's whale you told me about with dynamite or anything like that, are you? You had better try putting salt on his tail," he added, jokingly, and he quietly passed the salt-cellar to Joe. "Come, fill your pockets; you'll need it."
Now it might as well be said right here that Mr. Thompson owned many a fine split bamboo rod, and two or three beautiful guns, and that there were pictures of partridges and woodcock in his den. Two fishing pictures in particular, which had always been Joe's delight, hung near the door, one of a great trout rolling up to take a fly as it skimmed the surface of the water, while the other, its mate, was of a fine small-mouthed bass clearing the water, and shaking himself in the air in his efforts to break away from the hook which had tempted him. In fact, Mr. Thompson was a sportsman of the truest kind. Little did Ned and Joe know how near he came to adding set lines to dynamite when talking seriously before he mentioned the salt. If he had been told "the scheme" this story would never have been written, but the boys went off unaware of what Mr. Thompson's views were on the method they had devised to try the bass in Laurel Lake. They took their rods and bait, of course, but kept mum about what was rattling under the seat as Jerry drove Tot up to the door.
A mile and a half and they turned in at old Farmer Sayre's, hitched and blanketed the pony, and with their variety of equipment went down to the shore of the lake, where their boat was made last.
"Go ahead, Ned, you row," said Joe; "we'll get there quicker, and I'm most crazy to see how she works; aren't you?"
"You bet," replied Ned. "Shove off. Let fall," he added, giving himself part of the orders he had picked up but a week before, while on a visit to a friend on the Sound. "Give way; how's that for nautical, Joe?"
"Never mind nautical," said Joe; "git there is what we want. One, two—now, now!" He grunted out each word to help Ned, who was pulling with all his might, and the light little boat jumped ahead at each stroke.