"Now," he said, "I don't much care whether it's to be a bass or a pickerel."
No choice was given him, for in only a minute or so more a handsome yellow perch came over the side of the boat to account for one grasshopper.
"That fellow'll weigh a pound, more or less," he said. "I don't want any pumpkinseeds, though."
That, however, was the kind of fish he pulled in next. Shortly afterward he had the usual unpleasantness belonging to the unhooking of a large, fat, slippery-skinned bullhead. He was really making a very good beginning indeed, considering what was the established reputation of Green Lake.
"Uncle Jack said it was fished out," he said to himself. "I guess there are more shiners and pumpkinseeds than anything else. Hullo! Here comes a big one!"
What seemed to be a tremendous tug at his hook held on vigorously as he hauled in his line. The excitement of that strong bite made him tingle all over.
"Pickerel!" he shouted. "Or a big bass, or maybe it's a pike or a lake trout. What will Uncle Jack say, now?"
In a few moments more he was sadly replying, on behalf of his uncle, "Nothing but a cod-lamper eel!"
Soaked bush branches and pond weed are hard to pull in, and they are good for nothing in a frying-pan. A fisherman's gloomiest disappointments come to him in the landing of them.