DAN’S PROJECT
Dan took the light rod and instantly let out a few feet of the line.
He dropped his oars as he did so and the skiff swung around before
the gentle breeze that was blowing. Intently watching the line, he
permitted the tip of the rod to drop back until it was even with the
stern of the boat, and then with one strong yank he swung it back until
it was again at a right angle with the skiff.
“Take your rod,” he said quietly, as he handed it to his companion.
“Your pickerel is hooked all right; now let me see you land it. Be
careful of your slack,” he added quickly, as Walter began to reel in
swiftly.
The oars were again grasped by Dan, and he slowly sent the boat ahead,
meanwhile watching his companion in the latter’s efforts to land his
prey. “It’s a big fellow!” said Walter in his excitement as the contest
continued. “It’ll weigh six pounds! It pulls like a load of bricks! I
didn’t know there was a pickerel as big as that in Six Town Pond!”
“Be careful,” said Dan in a low voice. “Let him run! Give him line or
you’ll tear the hook out of his mouth! Not that way!” he added, as
Walter permitted the struggling fish to make swiftly for the near-by
weeds. “If you let him get among those weeds he won’t stop to say
good-bye.”
As Walter once more began to reel rapidly an expression of consternation
swept over his face as he said, “It’s gone! There isn’t a bit of weight
on the line! It must have got away.”
“Reel in,” commanded Dan.
“I am reeling, but――――” Walter stopped abruptly as a savage pull upon
his line interrupted his declaration.
The contest continued several minutes, neither of the boys speaking.
Walter’s excitement was intense, and he stood up in the skiff to enable
him to look for the struggling pickerel.
“Sit down!” ordered Dan a trifle sharply.
“I can see better when I’m standing,” replied Walter. “There it is!” he
shouted as his victim came within sight. “It’s a beauty! It’ll weigh
more than six pounds! It’s the biggest pickerel I――――”
“Look out! Don’t let him touch the boat!” broke in Dan, as the huge
pickerel made a sudden rush beneath the skiff. “There! You’ve lost it!”
he added grimly, as the fish tore itself free from the hook and with a
swift turn darted beyond the vision of the excited Walter.
“That’s strange,” muttered Walter, as in deep chagrin he resumed his
seat. “I don’t see how it got away. You couldn’t have hooked it very
well in the first place, Dan.”
The young oarsman smiled a trifle derisively as he said: “A good
fisherman doesn’t have to have a fish strapped and tied to land it. I
told you not to stand up.”
“What difference does standing make?”
“You have to balance yourself as well as handle the rod. Only an expert
can do that. Let me have your line. Your bait is gone.”
As Dan drew in the line and again baited the hook Walter laughed as he
said: “Oh, well, Dan, I’ll soon get the trick of it again. You must
remember that we don’t fish very much in the streets of New York.”
“So I hear,” quietly responded Dan as he handed back the fishing-rod.
“This time I’ll be careful, Dan,” continued Walter, as he resumed his
seat and let out his line again, while his oarsman sent the skiff more
swiftly ahead.
“You’ll get it next time.”
“Let us hope so. Dan, how is the Rodman nine this summer?”
“Pretty fair. We have a game to-morrow.”
“Who is to be the victim?”
“I’ll tell you later about that.”
“What nine do you play?”
“The nine from Benson.”
“Same team you played last summer?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see; the score last year was thirty-seven to nineteen, wasn’t
it?” laughed Walter.
“Yes.”
“What’ll it be this year?”
“I’m no prophet.”
“Seventy-four to thirty-eight?”
Dan smiled good-naturedly as he replied: “We’ll have an umpire this
year that can tell the difference between a foul ball and a bunt.
There’s a fellow staying at the Wright place that knows baseball like a
book.”
“Who is he?”
“Moulton.”
“What Moulton?” asked Walter, interested at once.
“He’s pitcher on one of the college nines.”
“It isn’t Moulton from Princeton, is it?”
“Yes.”
“How long has he been here?”
“About three weeks.”
“Great! He’s one of the finest! He struck out sixteen men in his first
game this year?”
“Did he?”
“He did that,” said Walter, his interest becoming still more manifest.
“He’s one of the greatest college players ever known. The New Yorks
offered him four thousand dollars a year to join their team.”
“Well, he’s going to umpire the game for us to-morrow.”
“Good! Great! He’ll be pretty sharp with you.”
“All right.”
“Who’s to pitch for your nine?”
“I am.”
“Who is to catch?”
“Tom.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d have time to practise.”
“We don’t have much time.”
“How long have you been pitching?”
“Three weeks.”
“You played first base last year.”
“Yes.”
“What made you think you could pitch?”
“I don’t know that I can. I’ll tell you more about it to-morrow, after
the game with Benson.”
“It’s a pity I didn’t come up a little sooner. I might have given you
a little coaching. Of course, I’m not a pitcher. I play short on the
Tait School nine. But I know a little how it ought to be done, even if
I can’t do it myself.”
“We have had a little coaching,” said Dan quietly.
“Who has been coaching you?” laughed Walter.
“Moulton.”
“What? The Princeton pitcher?”
“Yes.”
“That’s great!” exclaimed Walter, his enthusiasm returning in full
measure. “How does he do it? When do you get the time?”
“He comes over to the house every night after supper.”
“And Moulton has been showing you how to do it?”
“He has been trying. He has done his best. If I don’t learn the fault
isn’t his, anyway.”
“I wouldn’t miss that game to-morrow for a fortune. I’m going to see
how much you can do.”
“Wouldn’t you like to play short?”
“I’m your man!”
“I thought you’d want to, so I saved the position for you.”
“That’s good of you! I’ll try not to disgrace――hold on, I’ve got
another strike! I don’t want to lose this fellow!”
Once more Dan swung the skiff around until it was broadside to the
struggling fish. He was too wise to make any suggestions to his
companion at such a time, though he quizzically watched his friend as
the latter attempted to follow the directions that had been given him
before. The pickerel was securely hooked and at last Walter managed to
bring his victim near enough to the boat to enable Dan to secure it
with the aid of a landing-net.
“It’s only a little fellow!” exclaimed Walter in disgust, as he looked
at the fish after it had been thrown upon the bottom of the boat. “It
won’t weigh more than a pound and a half. Not much like the big one
that got away.”
“That’s a trick fish have,” remarked Dan dryly, as he once more
resumed his task at the oars, after he had placed a fresh bait on the
hook.
“But the one I lost was a big one!” persisted Walter.
“That’s what I’m telling you. It will get bigger and bigger all the
time. To-night when you go back to your grandfather’s, that pickerel
will weigh ten pounds at the very least. The weight increases as the
square of the distance.”
“That’s all right, Dan,” laughed Walter. “Have it your own way. You’ll
have to own up that I landed this fellow all right, anyway.”
“It couldn’t get away, it was hooked so well. You could have landed it
with a block and tackle. It had swallowed the hook.”
“Well, you just watch me next time.”
An hour elapsed, however, without another strike. The summer sun had
climbed high into the heaven and the waters of Six Town Pond were
almost like glass. Walter’s impatience increased as the time slowly
passed. Even conversation ceased and at last Dan said:
“The water is almost too clear this morning, Walter. I’m afraid we
sha’n’t get many pickerel to-day. It’s half past eleven,” he added as
he glanced at his watch. “Don’t you think we’d better row over to the
bluff and get a few perch for dinner?”
“I’m ready,” responded Walter promptly. “Shall I reel in?”
“No; you might as well troll while we’re crossing the pond. One never
can tell, you know. By the way, Walter, is this a pond or a lake?”
“What’s the difference? I always thought a pond was a small lake.”
“A lake has an outlet; a pond doesn’t. No, it’s the other way.”
“Then Ontario and Erie ought really to be called Ontario Pond and Erie
Pond――they both have outlets.”
“Here we are,” replied Dan, as he rowed under the shadows of the high
shore. “Now you’ll have to show that you are a fisherman, Walter, or we
sha’n’t have any fish for dinner. Here, let me change your tackle,” he
added. In a brief time the change was made, and as Walter dropped his
line into the water, Dan said: “I’ll take this other pole and try my
luck. When we get a half-dozen perch that will be enough and we’ll go
ashore. There’s a stone fireplace up there among those cedars which we
can use.”
“There was one last summer. Is this the same one?”
“I guess so; it hasn’t been disturbed. Now we’ll see which will get
the first perch,” he added, as he dropped a line into the water on the
opposite side of the boat.
The question was speedily settled, for in a brief time Dan landed two
perch in quick succession.
“I don’t see how you do it!” exclaimed Walter.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” said Dan good-naturedly, making his
perch captive in the end of the boat.
“It’s just born in some people――hello! There! I’ve got a bite!”
Walter’s attention was quickly centered upon the fish he had hooked
and a few minutes later, after he had succeeded in landing his prey,
he exclaimed: “Mine is the biggest one yet! You can count yours if you
want to. I’ll just weigh mine.”
“All right. You might weigh this fellow too while you are in the
business,” said Dan quietly, as he secured a perch much larger than his
companion’s. “Two more will give us all we want.”
The two additional perch were speedily secured, Dan catching both of
them, and then the skiff was sent ashore and the boys leaped out and
drew the little boat far up on the sandy beach.