In the meantime Tacks decided to do some bait fishing, so with an
old case knife he sat down behind Uncle Peter and began to dig
under the rock for worms.
"Fishing is the sport of kings," the old man chuckled; "an it's a
long eel that won't turn when trodden upon. If you're not going to
fish, John, do sit down! You're throwing a shadow over the water
and that scares the finny monsters. A fish diet is great for the
brain, John! You should eat more fish."
"There's many a true word spoken from the chest," I sighed, just as
Uncle Peter made his first cast and cleverly wound about eight feet
of line around a spruce tree on the opposite bank.
The old man began to boil with excitement as he pulled and tugged
in an effort to untangle his line, and just about this time Tacks
became the author of another spectacular drama.
In the search for the elusive worm that feverish youth known as
Tacks the Human Catastrophe, had finally succeeded in prying the
rock loose and immediately thereafter Uncle Peter dropped his rod
with a yell of terror and proceeded to follow the man from Cook's.
[Illustration: Tacks--the Boy Disaster.]
The rock reached the brook first, but the old gentleman gave it a
warm hustle down the bank and finished a close second. He was in
the money, all right.
Tacks also ran--but in an opposite direction.
For some little time my spluttering relative sat dumfounded in
about two feet of dirty water, and when finally I dipped him out of
the drink he looked like a busy wash-day.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48