The faint tinge of orange in the eastern sky deepened to a radiant crimson glow. A glistening, fast-widening, crescent sliver of the sun appeared on the horizon and painted a long golden path on the rippled lake, and still the lonely perch waited in vain for a companion in misery. Silvey jerked his line from the water and examined the untouched bait in disgust. "Just like it was last time," he ejaculated. "I'm going down the pier and see what the other fellows are catching." He jammed his pole between two bent nails in a plank and was off, stopping now and then to peer downward at some trophy as he sauntered along. John did likewise with his rod and stretched out on the rough boards to look lazily up at the clear sky. It wasn't half bad after all, even if the fish weren't biting. There was something in this getting up and over to the park before the smoke got into the air, to listen to the songs of the birds and watch the throng of people, that more than atoned for the lack of luck. He pulled out his watch dreamily--a quarter of six and still but one captive--and let his glance follow the wake of a graceful, white-hulled gasoline cruiser which chugged its way up from the south. Presently Silvey returned to break in upon his revery with the exciting news that a man near the life-preserver post had caught five fish. John sat up. "What did he catch 'em on?" he asked as he stretched his arms. "Minnows." "Let's try a couple of ours." They scraped the hooks free of the whitened worms with their finger nails and rebaited, only to find that the sun-parched flesh softened and floated away soon after it was lowered into the water. "Have to buy some fresh ones! Got any money?" A thorough search resurrected a worn copper that had lain in Silvey's back pocket until he had forgotten it--else the coin had gone the way of many another that had purchased peppermints at the school store. John surrendered a penny that had been given him the night before for a perfect spelling paper. They viewed the scanty hoard on the sun-bleached plank reflectively. "Ask him." John indicated the Scandinavian, who was well supplied with the desired bait. Silvey stood up and jingled the two pennies in his grimy hand with the air of a young millionaire. Yes, the fisherman would sell some. How many were desired? "Aw, give me," the boy paused, as if considering the amount sufficient for their needs, "give me two cents' worth." The merchant shook his head. "Two cents?" he sneered. "Naw! Won't sell any for less 'n a nickel." A gaunt, anaemic southerner, who was with the party of idlers, spoke up. "Yeah, boy. What's the matter?" Silvey turned ruefully. "Ain't got money enough to buy some minnies," he explained. The tall figure stooped abruptly, fumbled in a battered basket which held a miscellaneous assemblage of bait, throwlines, newspapers, and food, and drew forth a handful of the diminutive fish. "Yeah, boy," he smiled.