However, land about a stable, no matter how long the equine dweller has been away, seems to be a homestead for worms, a fact which Jolly Bill soon demonstrated. From his digging he called:
“I’m getting slathers of ’em now. Get your pole ready, Hiram.”
“All right,” was the answer.
Bob had been talking to the old man while Jolly Bill had transferred the scene of his digging operations.
“Think you’ll get any fish this time of year?” asked the young detective, for it was rather late in the season for the fish to bite well. The finny tribes were “holing up” for the winter, or doing whatever fish do in preparation for snow and ice covering the lake and river.
“Well, no, Bob, I don’t expect we’ll get many,” was the cautious answer. “It was Bill’s idea to take me fishing. He proposed it.”
Bob had begun to suspect that much.
“And he suggested coming here to dig for worms, didn’t he?” asked the lad.
“Why, that’s what he did!” exclaimed old Hiram. “How’d you know that, Bob Dexter?”
“Oh, I sort of guessed it, I reckon. Has he been digging long?”