somewhere in a hurry, but it was never meant for a fishing party," he
commented. "We'd have to be so careful in moving about that we couldn't
keep our mind on the sport. You couldn't play a bass from one without
danger of upsetting. I tell you what we'd better do. Let one of us fish
from the shore for bass, while the two others in the canoe troll for
pickerel. Two lines can be put out over the stern and one can paddle
gently while the other keeps a sharp eye on the lines. Between us all we
ought to get a mess in less than no time. We'll toss up to see which
shall do the lonesome act while the others use the canoe. At noontime
we'll have a fish fry right here on the shore to help us out with the
lunch. The one who catches the first fish gets out of doing any of the
work. The one who gets the next will have to do the cooking and the one
that trails in last will have to clean the fish. What do you say?"

There was no dissenting voice, and the spinning coin decreed that Tom and
Dick should do the trolling, while Bert remained on shore and tried for
bass.

With the polished spoons twinkling in the water behind, the canoe shot
out to the center of the lake. Bert carefully baited his hook and cast it
far out from shore. Then, with the happy optimism of the average
fisherman, he settled back and waited for results.

Contrary to the usual experience, those results were not long in coming.
Tom was the first to score. The spoon at the end of his line dipped
violently, and, hauling it in rapidly, he yanked in a big pickerel. He
did not dare to shout, for fear of scaring the wary denizens of the lake,
but he held it up for Bert to see, and the latter responded with a wave
of the hand in congratulation.