“Oh, this is awful,” laughed Nelson. “Come on, Tommy, let’s get out of this atmosphere.” And they bent to their paddles in an endeavor to draw away from the other craft. But Bob and Dan were ready for a race and they had it out for a quarter of a mile, nip and tuck, Tom, who had yet to acquire skill at paddling, throwing water over himself and whoever came within six yards of him, but nevertheless managing to keep his end up. When they called the contest off, both parties claiming victory, they had reached a point where it was necessary to choose their course. Before them the island which Tom had dubbed Clapboard barred their direct path and it became a question of going to right or left. Bob consulted the map once more. “It doesn’t make much difference,” he said. “The right is a bit nearer according to this.” “Right it is, then,” answered Dan. “Let’s quit for a while,” said Tom. “My arms are lamer than thunder.” “All right, Tommy.” So they laid aside their paddles, scooped the water up in their hands and drank, and then disposed themselves comfortably in the canoes. “Is the tide going in or out?” asked Nelson absent-mindedly. Then he wondered why the others laughed at him until he recollected that he was not on salt water. Bob brought his canoe alongside the other and held it there while they bobbed lazily about in the afternoon sunlight. “Who knows where the fishing-tackle is?” asked Tom. “I do,” Dan answered, “but we haven’t any bait.” “I’ll go ashore and dig some. We ought to have some fish for supper.” “I’ll eat myself all the fish you’ll catch, Tommy,” said Bob. “But go ahead and get your bait. How many lines are there?” “Two,” said Tom. “You take the other and I bet I’ll catch more’n you do.” “All right, Izaak Walton. Run away and get your bait. But it’s dollars to doughnuts you won’t find anything but earthworms, and no self-respecting fish will bite at those.” “A chub will take anything,” said Dan. “Yes, but we won’t take the chub,” answered Nelson. “I’ll go hungry before I’ll eat those things.” “Chub are all right,” said Dan. “You ask Tommy; he knows all about chub, don’t you, Tommy?” But Tommy, searching for the hatchet, made no response. Armed with this weapon in lieu of a spade he paddled in to the shore, Nelson, on his back with one foot over each gunwale, taking slight interest in the proceedings. Tom disappeared into the woods and was presently back again with a varied collection of worms and bugs gathered from rotten logs and from the earth. They returned to the other canoe, and he and Bob made ready their lines. “I’d like to know what sort of beasts these are,” said Bob disgustedly. “I’m afraid to touch some of them. Here, I’ll use the earthworms and leave these fancy things to you; and I hope they bite you. There, here goes for a whale.”