"No, thank you, my little man. I don't care for any worms. Would you like to see my bait?"
"Guess I would. Look here, Jeff, he's going to show his bait."
The stout stranger chuckled merrily as he drew from one of his great side pockets a sort of little book, with a leather cover and flap.
"Jeff, he carries his worms in a pocket-book."
"Flies, my little man—flies."
"Our fish won't bite at flies, mister; and they won't hide a hook, neither."
Charley's eyes were opening wide, a moment later, as the little book was opened before them.
"Flies? Why, mister, there's pretty much every kind of bug, except bumblebees. All sorts of hooks, too. If you put them pretty things into the water, you'll get 'em wet, and spoil 'em."
Again the fat man chuckled.
"Will I? Well, now, you and I'll run a race. You two boys go ahead, and see which of us'll catch the most fish and the biggest."