"Why, to sell," Walter faltered.
His chum grinned. "No one buys them. Why you couldn't give them away. But come, both of you and make fast. We'll just get home in time for breakfast."
It was a humble and abashed lad that stepped aboard the launch.
"Charley, I've been a fool," he blurted out, "but if you can overlook it this time, it will not happen again."
"Forget it," said his chum heartily. "I hated it more for your sake than for my own, but it's all over now. Cheer up, Old Chap."
"How did you know what kind of fish they were?" Walter inquired, after a brief silence.
"By the streaks. A catfish fires deep below the surface and he only runs a little ways then stops. A mullet makes a long straight streak close the surface. But those were not all catfish we rowed through to-night. There were sharks in one place, a school of porgies in another, and a lot of sea bass and some fish I could not determine and was afraid to run."