He threw his line out, and Tom followed a moment later with his. Then they waited while Dan and Nelson sarcastically made bets on the result. After five minutes without a nibble Bob grew restive. “Any one know whether there are any fish in this lake?” he asked. “All fished out, I guess,” said Dan. But at that moment Tom gave a suppressed whoop of excitement and began to let out his line. “Play him, Tommy,” said Nelson lazily. “It’s probably a codfish.” “Fu-fu-fu-feels like a wh-wh-whale!” answered Tom. “Now don’t get excited,” advised Dan. “Give him his head for a while. Maybe it’s a sunfish.” But Tom was really having all he could attend to, for whatever was on the end of his line was making the gamest sort of a fight. Tom had to let out several yards of line, for he was none too sure of his leader. Then he began to take it in again a little at a time until the fish, which seemed to have given up the struggle, was not six feet away. They all peered wonderingly into the water, but it was too rough to allow the fish to be seen. “I’m going to pull him in,” said Tom in a hoarse whisper. “You fellows su-su-stand by to gu-gu-grab him!” Then he pulled in hand over hand, there was a thrashing a yard away and a momentary glimpse of a big silvery body that turned and twisted. Then Tom sat down suddenly in the canoe, sending it down to the gunwale and shipping several quarts of water, while the end of the line, minus leader and hook, flew over his head. “_Gosh!_” exclaimed Tom, picking himself up and looking disgustedly into the water. “Say, he was a peach!” said Dan. “What do you suppose he was?” “Trout,” said Bob. “Salmon,” said Nelson. “He was the biggest I ever saw in fresh water, anyway,” Dan declared. Tom was feverishly fitting a new leader and baiting his hook. “Maybe he’ll be back,” he whispered excitedly. “Not he,” said Bob. “He’s scared to death. I’ll bet he’s half a mile away by this time. Hello!” He had drawn in his own line, forgotten in the excitement, and found the hook empty. “I got a bite at last.” “So did the fish,” laughed Nelson. Tom’s “whale” didn’t put in any appearance, but at the end of half an hour or so he had four fair-sized bass and two chub to his credit, while Bob had only one small perch to show. “You win, Tommy,” he said, winding up his line. “The old farm is yours, to say nothing of the wood-lot on the hill. Now let’s get along. It’s after four and we ought to get to Morris Island by five.”