Dorothy's Triumph

“We can,” Gerald replied. “It’s a good joke. We’re willing to admit it’s on us. You asked to come; we consented. That was our fault, not yours.”

“Yes,” Jim put in, “we thought you knew at least the rudiments of fishing.”

Molly shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, dear, what a fuss over nothing,” she groaned. “And to think I started it all by remarking that fish have no ears. And I’ll stand by my statement. I’m sure I am right.”

“No use to argue with a girl,” said Jim.

“Not a bit,” Gerald replied. “Let’s get ’em back to camp.”

“I refuse to go!” The fire fairly flashed from Dorothy’s eyes. “I came down here to fish, and fish I shall until I get ready to stop, and you’re a bigger ‘it’ than I think you are, Molly Breckenridge, if you let two unruly boys bluff you into doing as they wish.”

“Then we’ll have to leave you here,” said Jim, in the most matter of fact tone he could muster.

Gerald nodded assent.

Then both boys assumed an independent air, and acted as if they were going to leave – as much as to say that settled the matter.

“Well, let’s be going,” said Gerald, casting a sly glance toward Dorothy, and noticing that she made no move to wind in her line. He picked up his basket and threw an inquiring glance at Jim.

“Of course, if the girls agree to keep still, it won’t be necessary for us to go,” said Jim.

“Too bad we didn’t think of that before we wound in our lines,” Gerald lamented.

“Well, it’s never too late to let them out again,” Dorothy said, coolly.

“Will you promise to be quiet, Dorothy?”

“I promise nothing, Jim Barlow!”

“Oh, come now; don’t act contrary!”

“It’s not me who’s contrary, and you know it very well.”

“You said you were going back to camp. Why don’t you go?” Molly flung at them, tauntingly.

“Well, by cracky, we should; it would serve you right,” Gerald responded, slightly impatient. “You girls have no right to treat us this way. We brought you with us to give you a good time, and it seems that you might respect our wishes a little. No one can catch fish with a regular gab-fest going on on the bank.”

“Go along and don’t bother us,” admonished Dorothy.

At that instant her floater began to bob fiercely up and down. There was a strong tug on her line, and the reel began to revolve at a high rate of speed, as Mr. Fish, evidently aware that in snapping what appeared to be a nice, fat fly, he had gotten decidedly the worst of it, made a desperate effort to get away.

“Hold him!” cried Molly, rising on the bank and waving her arms excitedly.

“Oh, yes, hold him,” said the boys, exchanging glances of amusement.

“Hold him?” Dorothy gritted her teeth. “You just know I’ll hold him! We’ll show these young gentlemen that fish can be caught when there is noise on the bank. Oh, we’ll show them!”

The reel was revolving more slowly now, and before the end of the line was reached, had ceased altogether. Then the girl, a light of triumph in her eyes, began to wind in her prize. It was a slow task and a hard one, for when the denizen of the river found he had again encountered resistance, he renewed his struggle for freedom. Once he nearly jerked the girl off the bank into the water, greatly to the delight of Jim and Gerald, who had settled in a comfortable nook under the trees with the avowed intention of being “in at the finish.” That Dorothy would fail to land the fish they were quite sure, and to be on hand with a hearty laugh when her disappointment came, would in a measure atone for the trouble of bringing the girls on the trip.

Little by little the struggling fish was brought nearer, until, with a quick jerk of her pole, the girl lifted him clean of the water and swung him over her head to the shore.

So quickly did it happen that Jim was unable to get out of the way, and the fish, which was a three-pound trout, struck him squarely in the face, bowling him over in the grass, and causing him to drop the fishing tackle he was holding in his hands, long enough to brush the water from his eyes.

Now it was the girls’ turn to laugh, and they did not neglect the opportunity.

“Thought I couldn’t catch a fish, didn’t you, Jim Barlow?” cried Dorothy. “Well, I trust you now see the error of your judgment. I caught him, and you caught him, too, only you caught him where I didn’t – across the face.”

At this both girls burst out laughing again, and Gerald, no longer able to restrain himself, convulsed at the sight of Jim as he went tumbling backward with his eyes and nose full of water, was forced to join them. They laughed so loudly that Jim first smiled, then burst into a guffaw himself. He had been inclined to be angry at the humiliation imposed upon him by the fish, but now the ludicrous side of the affair appealed to him. He admitted that Dorothy had all the best of the argument and wound up by declaring that he intended trying his luck at the fish again.

Dorothy, in the meantime, had walked over and picked up her squirming catch, which she detached from the hook and dropped in the basket she had brought with her for that purpose.

“Here goes again!” she cried, and fastening a new fly on her line, she cast it far out into the stream. “Better hurry, you people, or I’ll have the record for the day.”

Gerald and Jim, thus admonished, began undoing their fishing tackle, and soon the quartet were fishing as if their lives depended on what they caught that afternoon. And the strangest part about it was that nobody – not even the girls – said a word! Silence reigned supreme. So, although Dorothy had triumphed in showing the boys the folly of keeping absolutely silent, the boys had also won their point in getting the girls so interested that neither cared to talk.

The fish began to bite with unusual frequency, and soon each member of the party had a fine string in the basket. Lunch was forgotten, so eager was each to beat the other’s record, and so nearly equal were the numbers of fish caught by each, they were afraid to stop to count them for fear they would be losing valuable time.

But finally, when the declining sun told them that the afternoon would soon be gone, with the pangs of hunger gnawing at their stomachs, a general agreement caused all to wind in their lines.

The fish were counted and it was seen that Dorothy had made the best record with seventeen trout of various sizes. Gerald came a close second, having sixteen, while Molly and Jim followed in the order named with fourteen and twelve respectively.

Lunch was eaten – or rather devoured, for they were ravenously hungry – in the shade of the big trees on the bank before preparations were made for the return to camp.

“Wish those fish were up the mountain,” sighed Jim.

“Oh, it will be easy to carry them,” said Molly.

“Yes; easy for you, because Gerald and I will have to carry all you’ve caught as well as our own.”

“How clever of you to guess that,” Dorothy said, laughing. “You’re a bright boy, Jim.”

“Yes; a little too bright sometimes,” he returned. “Next time I come fishing I hope I shall be bright enough not to invite you girls.”

“You did not invite us; we invited ourselves,” said Molly with some spirit.

“And they should be well satisfied,” said Dorothy. “If it had not been for us they would have gone back to camp before the fish commenced to bite, and then we would have had none.”

“Pooh, pooh!” said Jim.

“And again pooh, pooh!” said Gerald.

Then, without further ado, the boys picked up their loads and the climb back to the camp was begun.

They reached their destination tired from the exertion of the climb and generally weary from the day’s strenuous outing, but soon the odor of fried fish made them glad they had taken the trip and that the results had been so satisfying.

CHAPTER VIII