Several trips were made down to the St. Clair Lake House, and on each occasion large quantities of bass and trout were sold to the proprietor. He took all their offerings. As a result of the sales of trout and bass some substantial money orders were forwarded to the elder Prescott, to be cashed by Dick on his return. One afternoon Dick, who had gone trout fishing alone, returned with so small a string of the speckled ones that some of Tom's bass had to be added to the supper that night. "I've been doing rather an unsportsmanlike thing, I fear," admitted Dick. "Then 'fess up!" ordered Tom Reade. "The trout are beginning to bite poorly," Prescott went on. "The fact is, we've all but cleaned up the stream." "There must be a few hundred pounds left there yet," guessed Dave. "There may be, and I hope there are," Prescott went on, "but I've decided not to take any more trout out of the stream this year. Whatever are now left in the stream we must leave for next summer. No good sportsman would ever deplete a stream of all its trout." "The bass are still biting fairly well," mused Tom aloud. "However, they're not as easy to catch as they were. Had we better leave the bass alone, also?" "We might take out what bass we want to eat," Dick suggested, "but not attempt to catch any more than that this summer." "Too bad," muttered Tom. "I was in hopes that we were going to put by a big stake in the bank, to be divided later on." "We already have money enough for our purpose," Dick suggested. "We have sufficient funds to take us all away on a fine jaunt during August, and these are the last days of July, now. "I hate to go away from this lake," muttered Dave. "It has been very pleasant here," Prescott agreed, "and if the rest of you vote for it, I'll agree to put in the rest of our summer vacation hereabouts." "No," dissented Tom. "I reckon change of scene and air is as good for us as it is for other folks." "Tom wants to get where he can find more bass fishing," Greg laughed. "I've had enough of that sport to last me for one summer," retorted Reade. The day was closing in a gorgeous sunset. In fifteen minutes more the sun would be down, but there would still be left the long July twilight. "Did any of you ever see a more beautiful summer day than this has been?" asked Harry Hazelton presently. "I haven't anything to offer in the line of such experience," Tom confessed. "There are some days," Hazelton went on half dreamily, "that somehow makes a fellow feel thoroughly contented with himself." "That's the way I feel to-night," Tom admitted, with an indolent air. "I'd be contented if I knew one thing, and I suspect that you fellows might be able to tell me, if you only would." None noticed the twinkle in Prescott's eyes as he spoke. "I'll offer!" cried Tom good-humoredly. "If it's anything I can tell you, I'll do it." "S-t-u-n-g!" spelled Dick slowly. Tom suddenly sat up, glaring suspiciously at his chum.