“Dreaming nothing! Didn’t I see the fish?”
“You didn’t see any five-foot pickerel.”
“Tell you I saw one the length I’m showing you.”
Up sprang the Shark, and strode across the room, pulling a tape-measure from his pocket as he advanced. A good deal to Step’s embarrassment, he insisted upon making careful measure of the distance between the outstretched palms.
“Four feet, three and seven-eighths inches,” he announced. “Umph! Some fish, Step; yes, some fish!”
Step lost no time in lowering his arms. “Well, you fellows can josh if you want to; but you can’t prove I’m wrong.”
There was a shout of derision.
“No, sir—I won’t take off an inch!” declared Step.
The Shark grinned. “All right, Step. Only that couldn’t have been a pickerel; it must have been a muskellunge.”
“’Longe in the mill-pond! Sure thing!” snickered Poke.