"He was only in fun," said Eb; but all the same, having first assured themselves that their trout were safe, and likely to remain so, they strolled off down the stream, fishing as they went.
No doubt the fish had become wary, for our three friends met with little success. Clint was waiting for them when they returned, standing on the highest point of the old dam, and he swung his straw hat vigorously as soon as he discovered them.
"I've got one to match yours," cried he to Mel, displaying, as he spoke, his string of trout, to which he had added four or five, one of them an uncommonly fine one. "Isn't he a beauty, now?"
"Larger than Mel's, I think," said Eb, examining the fish critically. "That string ought to fetch more than a dollar, Clint."
Mel came up at this moment with a very black face. "I think this joke's been carried far enough," said he. "I came pretty near losing all the rest of my fish by means of it. You left the stringer loose."
"THE THREE WALKED AWAY UP THE PATH."
Clint turned upon him like a flash. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"You know well enough what I mean," cried Mel. "My fish is gone, and of course I know this is the one. Eb and Wat'll say so too, won't you, boys?"
"I thought it looked larger than yours," said Eb, his eyes growing big with amazement, "but I don't know."