"Wish we could catch him."
"If I had that feller's scoop-net, and could get some minners."
But he had no such thing; and in a few minutes more they were in their boat on the pond, while the stranger was walking fast, for a fat man, across the meadow toward the trout brook.
This was a very narrow, crooked affair, pretty deep in many places, and almost hidden by high grass, trees, and bushes.
"We know there are no fish there," said Charley, confidently.
"Not even trout?"
"Well, yes, maybe there's trout. But they won't bite. Not even before breakfast. Anyhow, they won't go for a bare hook, with a feather on it."
That seemed sensible, and Charley's own hook now had a worm on it, and so had Jeff's.
"We'll beat him. I know just where to go. We're in the right spot."
Perhaps he did; but before the morning was over he and Jeff had moved their boat into nearly a dozen more that seemed to be just as good.