A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
“Help! Get a boat! Help me out! Blub! Splub! Come on!” stammered and
yelled Jack, as he went down under the water, and came up again,
somewhat entangled in his fishing tackle.
“Don’t let the fish get away!” cried Tom.
“Grab him by the tail!” advised Dick.
“Hold him, no matter if you do get wet,” was Bert’s contribution.
“You’ve had all the luck!”
“Luck! Luck!” retorted Jack. “If you call it luck to fall in the lake
I----”
He was interrupted by a flurry of the big fish, that had not yet gotten
off the hook, and, as Jack had instinctively kept hold of the rod, the
finny prize was still a captive.
“It’s luck to get a fish like that,” declared Tom. “If I had him I
wouldn’t let go,” and he started across the rocks to the aid of his
chum. Dick and Bert had also laid aside their rods and were hurrying to
the immersed one.
By this time Jack had managed to swim ashore, as he was only a few feet
from it, and he was clambering up the rocky bank, keeping hold of his
rod and line as best he could.
“Is he off?” asked Tom anxiously, as he joined his comrade. “Have you
got the big fish yet?”
“Say, you care more about the fish than you do about me!” objected Jack.
“Why shouldn’t I?” asked our hero, with a laugh. “This is the first
fish any of us caught. Reel in now. Never mind about yourself, you’ll
dry, but we want that fish!”
Jack did have enough sporting blood to forget his own condition, and
soon he was reeling in the fish, which was still on the hook. But most
of the fight was gone from him, and it did not take much of an effort
to land him. The prize proved to be a large bass.
“That will be great when Dick cooks it!” exclaimed Bert, as he held up
Jack’s catch.
“Me cook it!” cried the village lad. “Say, I thought everyone had to
cook his own catch.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Tom. “You’re cook for this week, and you have to
serve up all the fish and game we bring in. I’m thinking of bringing in
a bear soon.”
“And I’ve got an idea where I can get a lot of frogs’ legs,” added Bert.
“I’ll manage to furnish a mock turtle, and we can make more soup,”
added Jack. “Or, if you like, I’ll keep on with the fish.”
“Say!” cried Dick. “You fellows can cook your own game. I’ll manage
the canned stuff and----”
“Yes, and I suppose you’ll fricassee the baked beans if we don’t watch
you,” put in Tom with a laugh.
“Oh, get out!” ejaculated the exasperated cook.
“Well, I got the fish, anyhow,” said Jack as, dripping water from every
point, he held up his prize. “It’s a beaut, too.”
“It nearly got you,” commented Tom. “But say, there must be great
fishing in this lake when they come right up to shore and take the bait
that way.”
“Oh, we’ve struck a good place all right,” declared Jack. “As soon as
we get straightened out we’ll go out in the middle, and pull in some of
the big ones.”
“I think I can get another like yours right here at shore,” said Tom,
and he threw in. Shortly he had a bite, and almost duplicated Jack’s
catch.
Meanwhile Jack was cleaning and scaling his prize, and drying himself
out. The other boys had fair luck with rod and line, and then it was up
to Dick to cook the fish, which he did, frying them in bacon and corn
meal.
“Oh, say, maybe they don’t smell good!” cried Tom, as the savory odor
was spread about the camp.
“They’ll taste better,” was Jack’s comment.
The evening meal was a great success and they all voted that Dick was a
much better cook than he had given himself credit for.
“How are you on pies?” asked Tom, as they sat around the campfire that
evening, after everything was ready for bed. “Think you can tackle
them, Dick? We’ve got prepared flour, and you can use some jam, or
canned apples, for filling.”
“I’ll try it,” agreed the amateur cook. “We’ll have pie to-morrow.”
They did not sleep very well that night, as the beds were rather hard,
not having been properly made, and they were all rather excited over
the events of the day.
Breakfast, however, with coffee, and bacon and eggs which they had
brought from Wilden, put them all in good humor, and they made a merry
meal.
“Now for some fishing!” exclaimed Tom, as he went down to look about
his motorboat.
“And I’m going to take a gun and see if I can get anything in the line
of game,” put in Jack. “It’s out of season for most things, but I may
get something in the bird line.”
“And Dick is going to make pie,” said Bert. “Make four, old man, so
there’ll be one apiece.”
“All right,” agreed the young cook good naturedly. “I won’t guarantee
results, but I’ll do my best.”
Tom started out in the boat with Bert to do some fishing, while Jack
wandered off in the woods with his shotgun. Dick did up the dishes and
then began rummaging around in the supplies. Soon he was whistling away
and, as Tom and Bert could see, from where they were in the boat, he
was kept quite busy over something.
“Well, did you get ’em made?” asked Tom, when they had all assembled
for dinner. “How about the pies, Dick?”
“There they are,” was the retort, and Dick pointed to the pastry.
“Hum! They smell good!” exclaimed Jack, as he whiffed an odor from the
pies.
“They look good,” commented Tom.
“Let’s see if they taste good,” suggested Bert.
The pies were served as dessert, and at the first mouthful Tom let out
a howl.
“For the love of tripe!” he cried. “What did you put in these pies,
Dick?”
“Apples, of course,” replied the injured cook. “What did you suppose it
was?”
“Well, if those are apples then they’re flavored with something funny,”
declared Tom. “Where’s the can you used?”
Dick brought two empty tin cans up to the table, which was made from
packing boxes.
“The paper labels soaked off,” he explained, “but there were cans of
apples on top and below these so I thought it was all right. Isn’t it?”
Tom took a smell, and cried out:
“Say, fellows, he dumped a can of quinces in the apple pie stuff and
baked that all together and then used baking soda for powdered sugar!
Oh wow! What a taste!”
There was a general laugh, and Dick replied with:
“Well, if you fellows think you can do any better you can have my job.
I’m sick of being cook.”
“Tut, tut! It’s all right,” said Tom hastily. “We were only fooling.
You’re doing fine, Dick, only, after this, smell of a can if it hasn’t
got a label pasted on it, and taste the powdered sugar.”
But if the pies were a failure, the rest of the dinner was good, and
later on Dick proved that he could make good pastry when he used the
right ingredients.
They had more fish that day, as luck was good, but the game was scarce,
as might have been expected at that season of the year.
After dinner, the rest of the day was spent in getting the camp into
better shape, and making the beds more comfortable. The boys were in
the habit of making up a camp fire early in the evening, and sitting
in the glow of it to talk. They did this on their second night, and
when it had about died down Tom tossed on some heavy sticks of wood and
remarked:
“Well, I’m going to turn in. I’m tired and I want some sleep. To-morrow
we’ll take a long boat ride.”
“When are we going to the old mill?” asked Jack.
“Oh, maybe we can try that soon if we like,” said Tom.
It was nearly midnight, as Tom ascertained by looking at his watch,
when he was suddenly awakened by hearing something moving about near
the sleeping tent. At first he thought it was one of his chums, and he
called out:
“Who’s that? You, Jack?”
There was no answer, and, looking across to the other cots, our hero
saw the forms of his companions under the covers. They were all quiet.
“There’s some one out there,” he murmured.
Rising cautiously he stepped to the flap of the canvas shelter and
peered out. In the dying glow of the camp fire he saw an old man
silently walking toward the tents.
“For gracious sake!” breathed Tom to himself. “If that isn’t the old
hermit of the mill I’m a lobster! I wonder what he’s doing here?”
With anxious eyes he watched, and as the moon came out from behind a
cloud, to add to the glow of the campfire, Tom saw the light glint on a
gun.
“He’s looking for us!” whispered Tom. “I wonder what I’d better do?”