CHAPTER IVTHE REWARD OF PATIENCE
“The ‘next thing’ is to wash these dishes and put them back in the baskets where they belong.”
“What’s the use?” drawled Walter lazily.
“Some day we’ll want to use them again.”
“Use them, then; I don’t object.”
“But you’ll want them clean.”
“They were clean enough just now, weren’t they? You put some potato on the plate on which I’d been eating potato and fish, didn’t you? I didn’t find any fault, did I?”
“I didn’t notice any very vociferous complaint.”
“Of course you didn’t. Well, if a plate is clean enough to keep on eating from, I don’t see any use in bothering with it.”
“You mean that dishes that are clean enough to stop eating on are clean enough to begin with again?” laughed Dan.
“You’ve struck the nail on the head the first time.”
“That may do in New York. It won’t do here.”
“It’s just a fad, that’s all,” asserted Walter. “It’s a fashion and nothing more.”
“You can explain it to your Grandmother Sprague when we go home, but I don’t care to be there when she expresses her opinion, that is, if I happen to be the one who has not done his work as he ought to.”
“She has some rather strong ideas on that subject,” admitted Walter demurely. “I’m afraid she’s a little prejudiced. She has the boards on the kitchen floor scoured with soap and water and sand till they fairly glisten. I said to her the other day: ‘Grandmother, don’t you really think there are some things in life that are more important than just keeping clean a few old pine boards in the floor of your kitchen?’”
“What did she say?” inquired Dan, smiling as he spoke. “Your grandmother has the reputation of being one of the best housekeepers in the county.”
“She didn’t say much; but, somehow, I didn’t stay long to show her how mistaken she was. She just emptied a bucket of water on the floor where I was standing and I fled.”
“You didn’t make any mistake in that. Now then, I’ll have to wash these dishes, and it’s time I began,” said Dan, as he leaped to his feet and prepared for his task.
“Oh, well, if you are set upon it, I suppose I’ll have to help; but honestly, Dan, I don’t see any reason in it.”
“You don’t have to help. You pay me for my time, you know.”
“That’s all right. I’m going to do my share.”
“Come on then, if you mean it.”
The dishes speedily were carried to the spring and as both boys worked rapidly the disagreeable duty was quickly completed.
“There! Now if you feel better we can try the fishing again,” said Walter, as he and his friend returned to the shaded place where the table had been set.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much use in trolling now,” said Dan, as he looked over the still and shining waters of the pond.
“Why not?”
“It’s too warm and still. The pickerel make for the cooler places when the sun is as warm as it is now.”
“Then we can go to those ‘cooler places’ if that is where the fish go, can’t we? A fellow ought to use his head when he’s fishing, just the same as he does when he’s playing ball.”
“It isn’t his head—it’s his oars,” explained Dan. “We simply can’t get into the places where the pickerel hide. Besides, they won’t bite much till the water is cooler.”
“I can’t understand that any more than I can about the dishes we just washed. A pickerel is always hungry, isn’t he? Well, if he is always hungry, then he’ll eat always, won’t he?”
“No.”
“Why won’t he?”
“I guess you’ll have to go to him to get your information.”
“That’s what I want to do.”
“All right. We’ll try the trolling again if you like.”
“Pretty soon,” replied Walter, whose desire for an argument was keener than his wish to be out on the water under the burning sun. “Just now I’m interested in that flicker. What does he make all that noise for?”
“He’s after the worms in that dead tree where he’s hammering.”
“A bird is a cruel animal.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, he’ll smash and hammer a poor little worm or a bug he catches till there isn’t a spark of life left. Oh, I don’t believe in harming the birds,” Walter hastily added as he saw a look of surprise on Dan’s face. “It isn’t that. Only when I hear so much about saving the birds, I can’t help thinking of the poor little grubs and bugs his birdship doesn’t have any mercy for. See? Why don’t we try to save the bugs and worms as well as the birds?”
“If you lived on a farm you’d know the reason why.”
“What is it?”
“They kill the crops.”
“So we kill them because they affect our pockets. Is that it?”
“I guess it is.”
“Then it isn’t wrong to kill things that take what we want. It’s only wrong to kill what doesn’t interfere with our plans.”
“Have it your own way,” said Dan, somewhat puzzled by his friend’s apparent seriousness. “My conscience doesn’t trouble me when I kill the grasshoppers and——”
“And yet the grasshopper is a wonderful creature. He makes his music with his hind legs.”
“Who told you that?” sniffed Dan scornfully.
“Everybody knows it—unless he lives in the country.”
“I guess that is the kind of talk you hear on Broadway.”
“It’s true, no matter where you hear it.”
“You say it is; that’s why you think it’s so.”
“No, sir. I say it because it is true, Dan. What does a squirrel do in the winter? Does he go to sleep the way the bears do, or does he——”
“I guess he does,” broke in Dan. “You can ask more questions than a four-year-old boy.”
“But you don’t answer me. If I lived all the year where you do I’d find out some of these things.”
“That’s all right. It’s a good way.”
“Of course it is.”
“Who printed the first newspaper in New York?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“I do. It was William Bradford. He establishedthe first printing-press in New York in 1693. There’s a tablet to his memory at the Cotton Exchange. Who was the mayor of New York when the present City Hall was built?”
“I give it up. Can you tell?”
“Yes, sir. DeWitt Clinton. Where can one find statues of Franklin and Greeley in New York City?”
“I know that—Printing House Square,” laughed Walter.
“Good. What is Franklin holding in his hand?”
“I give it up. What is it?”
“A copy of his first newspaper—‘The Pennsylvanian.’ Where is the Peter Cooper pear tree?”
“Let’s go out on the pond and try the pickerel.”
“All right; only the next time you suggest that I ought to know all about the habits of the squirrels and the bugs, I’m going to ask you about Minetta Creek——”
“What’s that?”
“That is the name of the little creek in Greenwich village——”
“You know a lot, Dan. I guess you’ve got me all right. I won’t say anything more about a fellow finding out what is going on where he lives until I learn a little more about my own town. Where did you find all this out—I mean the things you’re telling me?”
“I read about them, same as you read about grasshoppers.”
“Come on,” said Walter, rising as he spoke. “Look out for snakes, Dan.”
The great snake was not seen as the two boys once more sought their boat and in a brief time resumed their trolling. Three hours passed and Walter seldom had a strike. “You’re right, Dan,” he said at last; “there isn’t a hungry pickerel in the pond.”
“Too hot,” remarked Dan quietly.
“Yes, I know that’s what you said. Perhaps we’d better quit. We’ve a good seven miles to go—back to my grandfather’s.”
“This is the best time in the day for fishing.”
“You have your milking to do. I don’t want to keep you from that.”
“My brother will look after the chores to-night. You’ve paid for this day and it belongs to you if you want it.”
“All right,” laughed Walter. “You row along the edge of those weeds yonder and by the time we get back to the place where Prince is I’m sure I’ll have had enough.”
“Just as you say,” said Dan, as he rowed the skiff toward the long stretch of weeds to which his companion had pointed. “Now look sharp,” he added as they drew near the reeds. “You’ve got the right time and you’ve got your pickerel!” he added sharply as there came a savage tug on Walter’s line. “It’s a beauty!” he shouted as a huge fish leaped from the water a hundred feet in therear of the boat. “Give him your line! Let him have the bait! Don’t yank it out of his mouth!”
Walter did not respond as he did his utmost to follow his friend’s instructions. “Now!” shouted Dan, “give him a quick, sharp, hard yank! That’s right. You’ve hooked him! Now look out that he doesn’t get any slack! Reel in slowly! If he tries to run let him have line, only don’t take your thumb off the reel!”
The tip of Walter’s rod was suddenly drawn under the water and the boy in his excitement started to rise from his seat. “Sit down!” ordered Dan. “Don’t let him drag your rod under, whatever you do! That’s no way to fish! Keep a good tight line and your rod out of the water!”
“Who’s doing this?” inquired Walter testily.
“I’m trying to have you do it,” retorted Dan.
“Well, let me do it then! I’m going to save or lose this pickerel all by myself! You look after your oars——”
“Good!” broke in Dan good-naturedly. “Now you’re talking like a fisherman. I’ll keep the skiff broadside on and you can do the rest.”
Silence followed and the contest continued. Excited as Walter was, he nevertheless was mindful of his every act. Again and again he reeled the huge fish near the boat, only to have the pickerel, which was fighting for its life, dart swiftly away. The reel “sang,” but Walter, mindful now of the care and skill required, did not for a moment relaxhis vigilance. Steadily and cautiously he reeled his victim back toward the boat, until at last the huge pickerel was plainly to be seen.
“It’s a monster!” exclaimed Walter excitedly, as he obtained his first view of the great fish. “It’s the biggest pickerel I ever saw.”
“Tire him out,” said Dan quietly. “It’s your only chance.”
Once more the fish, as it saw the occupants of the skiff, darted swiftly away, but Walter was wiser now, as well as more careful, and giving his victim a free line he did not begin to reel again until the pull ceased upon his line. His excitement redoubled, but Dan smiled approvingly as he marked his friend’s caution. Three times more the desperate pickerel darted away, but the run was shorter each time and there was less resistance each successive time that the young fisherman reeled in his victim.
“Bring him alongside now,” directed Dan. “Be careful! If he touches the boat with his tail he’ll get a purchase and break away. There! That’s right! I’ll have to use a gaff on him, the net is too small. Good! That’s exactly where I want him!”
Taking his gaff, Dan suddenly thrust it under the pickerel and then with one quick, strong pull brought the great fish into the skiff. Despite the floppings and flounderings of the safely landed fish, Dan gave it one hard blow with a short hickory club and its struggles were ended.
“That’s what I always do,” he explained. “Idon’t want to keep a fish in misery; and, besides, it’s better eating if killed quickly.”
“Dan! Dan! Look there!” abruptly exclaimed Walter in a low voice, and as his companion looked up, instantly he saw what had aroused the attention of his companion. Not more than five yards away, and swimming near the border of the rushes, was the huge snake which Walter had seen a few hours previous to this time.