“I wonder,” he remarked, looking at the unbroken margin of forest which stretched along the shore, “if there is any fishing to be found about here?”
“I think we could catch something from the tender, sir,” replied Roy.
“I was thinking of trout,” murmured the Doctor. Chub went into the wheel-house and consulted his map.
“There’s a good-sized stream about a mile up,” he announced. “Let’s go and try it.”
“Oh, let’s!” cried Harry. “I never caught a trout.”
“You should have seen the one I caught,” said Chub. “It was a regular whopper. It was as long—”
Roy and Dick groaned.
“I’ve got a picture of it somewhere. I’ll find it.”
“Never mind it now,” said Roy gently. “Try to think of something else, Chub. You see, sir,” addressing the Doctor, “he’s a little bit—er—daffy on the subject of that fish. As a matter of fact, it weighed about ten ounces and—”
“Ten ounces!” howled Chub. “It weighed
