"I guess you're the biggest pin-head in camp, all right---after myself," nodded Reade. "So we ought to hit it off as bass fishermen, Danny boy." "Fellows," hinted Dick judicially, "I think we had better turn the canoe over to Tom for the first trip. His craze to go bass fishing is so acute that it fairly pains him. Tom can have the first trip, can't he?" There was a general assent. Tom darted away to overhaul such tackle as he had for bass fishing. He came back with a small but tough jointed rod, some very long lines, and some flashily, bright spoons. "Danny, get a shovel and dig for some grubs," Tom ordered, as he sorted tackle. "When you can't fool black bass with one thing you must try another. If you fellows see any tiny chubs swimming about in the little coves here, try to get a lot of them. We can keep them in a bucket of water. Perch? Bah! The real fishing is about to begin now!" "Do you really expect to get any bass today, Tom?" Dick inquired. "Hard to say," replied Reade, shaking his head as he glanced up from the tackle he was overhauling to look out upon the lake. "I haven't seen a single bass jump in five hours now. But I may get two or three. I certainly will, if the bass are sportsmanlike enough to give me any show at 'em." By the time that Tom had his tackle in shape Dick and Dave pronounced the canoe wholly water tight. Dan Dalzell, equipped with one of the paddles, took a kneeling position just back of the bow seat. Tom got in next, squatting with his face to the stern of the canoe. None of the others were to go. At a pinch this ten-foot canoe might hold three, but fishermen as a rule do not care to have extra passengers in their boats. "Give 'em a cheer, boys!" cried Darry, as Danny Grin, with a few deft strokes of the paddle, propelled the craft away from the shore. "And let that cheer be the last," called back Tom, in a low voice that nevertheless traveled backward over the water. "Don't frighten my bass from coming up to take a look at me." "Tom surely is the sincere old bass fisher, isn't he?" demanded Harry Hazelton. "I don't know," Dick made answer. "We can tell better when we've seen him hook and land a few fish." "Paddle slowly right across the lake, Danny," begged Tom, watching his trolling line. From the camp the boys watched until they grew tired of the monotony. Reade did not seem destined to secure a single "strike" from bass that afternoon. "At half-past four o'clock," proposed Darrin, "I'll go down to the old pier and see what I can do toward catching a string of perch for to-night." "I'll go with you," nodded Hazelton. "All right," agreed Dick. "Greg and I will get in the water and wood, and see to whatever else we're to have for supper. I don't believe Tom will bring us anything."