A Great Day for Water Sport
“I guess you’re taking us home by another road, eh, Ralph?” remarked
Sim.
“Noticed where I cut loose from the main line, did you?” laughed the
pilot. “Well, we can strike it again further on.”
“Want us to see more of the country; or is there something special
up this way?” queried the visiting Jeffords boy.
“Well, partly that. Mrs. Murphy lives on this dirt road, you see;
and I’ve got that nice string of fish to leave at her house. There,
you can see the cottage over yonder. She’s always so glad to have a
batch of bass. As I said before, she has a big family, and not much
money to run it on.”
Soon afterwards they stopped in front of a modest cottage, where
several half-grown children were playing in the yard. Immediately
loud shouts attested to the fact that they had recognized Ralph.
Accordingly, there was a rush for the road, so that when the widow
came out, attracted by their cries, the entire family surrounded the
car.
The fish were duly delivered, and Mrs. Murphy, as usual, was lavish
with her sincere thanks. Rob and his chums were interested. This
sort of thing happened to be along the lines of their own doings;
since nothing pleased them more than to do something for those who
were in need of assistance.
Besides, it raised Ralph higher in their esteem than before. Rob
privately made up his mind that a fellow who could be thinking of
others so much of the time as Ralph did, and who delighted to be of
help to those in need, would make the finest sort of a scout leader.
He was more determined than ever that before leaving the Jeffords
farm he must convert Ralph, and start him on the road to organize a
troop of scouts in Wyoming, this time along true lines, so that the
town would be proud to acknowledge them as representing the best
that was in American boys.
Just as the pilot had said, they soon came out again on the main
road, and in due time arrived home. The first thing they saw was
Tubby, sitting there on the front steps leading to the long porch,
where he might just as well have occupied a comfortable chair, but,
being a boy, he chose to camp out on the steps.
He waved a hand at them, and seemed to be smiling broadly, from
which those who knew Tubby so well were able to draw certain
conclusions.
“I wager Tubby’s had a fine afternoon’s sport,” remarked Andy
Bowles.
“Oh! it doesn’t take so very much to make him grin from ear to ear;
and it’s some stretch, at that,” chuckled Sim.
“I think he’s a mighty fine fellow, if you asked my opinion,”
remarked Ralph.
“You wouldn’t be a bit off the road there, either,” Rob told him.
“Tubby has the best disposition of any boy I know. There isn’t
anything he wouldn’t do for another fellow; and the best of it is he
never stops to consider whether it’s a friend or an enemy he’s
trying to help; though, for that matter, Tubby has so few enemies
they hardly count.”
The object of this side talk now sauntered up. He looked rather the
worse for wear, his trousers being muddy, and his face still rosy
from exertion.
“Got a pretty nice mess of bass, didn’t you, fellows?” he remarked,
as Sim lifted the string, and tossed the catch out of the car.
“Oh! that’s just half of all we took,” Andy hastened to explain.
“You see, there were too many for our own use, and Ralph here had an
old lady friend with a big family on her hands, who looks to him to
keep her supplied with fresh fish; so we dropped the other string at
her house on the way home. How did you come out with your frog
hunting, Tubby?”
“I had just a glorious time of it, Andy,” the other replied. “Come
over to the ice-house and see, for they’re keeping cool until it’s
time to cook them for our supper. Better fetch the fish along with
you, too, while about it.”
All of them followed him across the yard to the ice-house. This was
so built that it could be used to take the place of a refrigerator;
and fresh meat, butter and such things were kept there nice and
sweet.
Tubby swooped down and lifted a platter that was covered with green
leaves. As he removed these there were revealed several rows of
“saddles,” as the long hindlegs of bullfrogs are called in the
market, where they bring as much as eighty cents a pound, sometimes
even more, according to supply and demand, and are considered a
great delicacy by epicures.
“They look pretty fine to me, Tubby,” said Rob, admiringly. “How
many did you knock over with the little Flobert rifle?”
“Well, you know, I’m kind of systematic in my ways, boys,” Tubby
explained. “So in the beginning I set a limit, and when I got to the
twenty-five mark I quit business. Jiminy crickets! I could have had
a hundred as well as not, if I had been greedy; but you know that
isn’t in my line. They are such busters, too; why, a fellow couldn’t
get away with more than four such monster saddles unless he turned
out to be a hog.”
“Only four apiece,” said Sim, pretending to look sad.
“But some people don’t care for frogs’ legs, I’m told,” Tubby
admonished him, as he shot a look toward Ralph, who not long before
had said something to that effect, it may be remembered.
“You’ve got something else on your mind,” suggested Andy, who knew
the signs; “better open up and tell us what’s happened while we were
gone. You never were built to keep a secret; it shows in your face
right away.”
“Oh! well, I meant to tell you about it, boys. Look here, what do
you think of this?” and as he spoke Tubby turned around, pushed a
piece of burlap aside, and showed them an object hanging by a piece
of rope, a rather ghastly object, too.
“Wow! a turtle, with its throat cut!” exclaimed Andy, staring as
though he could hardly believe his eyes.
“Did you shoot that big snapper?” demanded Ralph. “Why, he would
have taken a piece out of your leg if ever he managed to get a hold.
A fellow has to be pretty careful how he handles a snapping turtle.”
“Well, he just missed me by an inch,” said Tubby, proudly. “After
that I was fighting shy of that head when it darted at you like
lightning. You see, I came on this whopper while I was moving around
the pond, trying to see some of the frogs squatting among the grass
and reeds and moss. I don’t know why a turtle should be out of the
water and up on the bank, except it comes out to lay its eggs, they
say, and then in the Spring; but there it was, and when I almost
stepped on it, it gave a wicked lunge at me.”
“Quite exciting, wasn’t it, Tubby?” laughed Andy.
“To me it was,” admitted the fat boy, unconcernedly. “I made up my
mind I ought to capture that fellow. They say snappers are death to
frogs, and ducks, and even fish; but as I didn’t dare touch the
crawler, I hunted up a stout stick and tried to turn him over. My
stars! he struck it hard, and held on like a bulldog, but I managed
to drag him further up on the bank. I was wondering what I should do
with him when Peleg came along, and saw what I had found. He told me
you could eat snappers; and while I drew his head as far out as I
could,--I mean the turtle’s, of course,--him holding on to the stick
like grim death, why, Peleg used his knife to end his troubles. So
here he is or she is, I don’t know which; and if Ralph says the same
as Peleg did, and that snappers can be eaten, why we stand to have
turtle steak and turtle soup.”
[Illustration: “He held on like a bull-dog.”]
Ralph admitted that he had partaken of snapping turtle diet on more
than one occasion, and found it fairly to his liking, though he did
not really “hanker” after the dish any more than he did frogs’ legs.
“These other red-marked paddlers are better,” he told them. “Though
I guess none of them come up to the green turtle found in the
Southern waters near the coast, or the diamond-back terrapin of
Maryland and Virginia. But I’m glad you got this one, Tubby, because
these snappers do a heap of damage, and are of no earthly good. I’ve
lost dozens of young goslings and ducks through this fellow and his
kind.”
“One thing sure,” Tubby went on to say, with apparent delight,
“today has been a red-letter day for hauling in a mess of food of
all sorts from the water. Just to think, we’ve got fresh fish,
frogs’ legs, and turtle to choose from.”
“Better jot it down in your diary as Marine Day,” laughed Andy.
“We’ll leave the turtle for tomorrow,” suggested Ralph. “Two kinds
of fish ought to be enough for one meal. I’ll take the bass every
time. But here’s Peleg, ready to do the job of getting them fixed
for the pan,” as the half-grown farm boy made his appearance.
“’Tain’t fair, let me tell you,” complained Tubby. “Here I went and
prepared _my_ catch, all but the turtle, so they could be dipped in
cracker crumbs, and dropped in sizzling hot lard, or else fried
alongside salt port. You fellows get off too easy by having Peleg do
the work.”
He forgot all about this, however, in asking after the particulars
of the fishing trip; and, upon learning how the bass bit so
fiercely, Tubby declared he would like to make one of the next party
that visited the lake.
“Frog hunting is all very fine,” he admitted without a bit of shame;
“but it gets monotonous after a while. I like a little variety in my
sport. Besides, the poor greenbacks haven’t a ghost of a chance
before that little Flobert of yours, Ralph, which shoots so straight
you only have to take aim, pull the trigger, and that ends it. Now a
bass on a light rod makes some excitement; and there’s always a
chance for him to give you the merry ha-ha by breaking away. Yes,
next time count me with you, please.”
They took things easy the rest of the afternoon, having enjoyed the
day very much. All sorts of plans were suggested for the future,
some of which were never to be carried out, for the simple reason
that events, which none of the boys could foresee, were on the eve
of coming to pass.
So the night came on. Supper was somewhat later than usual on
account of Mr. Jeffords having been away on a business trip to town,
and coming home along toward twilight, long after the sun had set in
a blaze of glory.
The feast of frogs’ legs proved quite satisfactory to those who were
fond of such a diet. Besides, there was a fine mess of bass, done to
a turn by the colored mammy in the kitchen, who certainly knew the
secret of making various dishes appear very tempting and appetizing;
as well as roast chicken, corn, new potatoes, and last, but far from
least, two kinds of pies that equalled the product of any New
England kitchen.
All of the boys were hungry when they sat down to the table, but by
the time half an hour had gone by Tubby was seen to hardly shake his
head when asked to have another helping. Andy Bowles undid his belt
when he thought no one was looking his way, both of which incidents
went to tell the story of “enough being as good as a feast.”
They had just about made up their minds to leave the table when
excited voices reached them. Then Peleg came hurrying in, looking
anxious. He said something to Mr. Jeffords in a low voice, at which
the farmer seemed shocked.
“What is it, Father?” demanded Ralph.
“It’s Mrs. Holcomb come over to tell us that one of her children has
been lost in the woods since early this morning,” said Mr. Jeffords.
“Her husband has been searching everywhere, and now they call on us
to help them find the poor lost darling. Ralph, get the car, and
we’ll take her back with us.”