a two,” said Dick. “Anyone would believe you. Why, that fish is half as big as you—in the picture!”
Chub viewed him sorrowfully and shook his head.
“That,” he replied, “would not be the truth, Dickums. When you know me better you’ll find that not even a fish can tempt me from the path of honesty. Perhaps, however, there wouldn’t be any harm in calling it a three-pounder; what do you think?”
Roy and Dick had good luck, too, although their trout were smaller than Chub’s “two-pounder,” and during their stay at Camp Storm King, as they called it, they had all the fresh fish they could eat.
The day after Chub’s famous catch he informed the others that he was going back to the scene of his victory for another try.
“We’ll all go,” said Roy, pleasantly, with a wink at Dick. “It must be a dandy place.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” replied Chub, shortly. “That pool is my discovery.”
“Pshaw,” said Roy, “if I found a good place like that I’d want you to try it.”
