knowledge of the trout fishermen in Gridley. Not even Mr. Morton
ever heard of this stream."

"Well, Mr. Morton can't be expected to know everything," argued
Greg. "He's already the most capable sub-master in Gridley High
School and the finest coach the Gridley football squad ever had."

"He's also an A No.1 trout fisherman," Dick went on. "Fellows,
we mustn't tell everyone about this trout stream, but Mr. Morton
is such an all around fine fellow that I think we owe it to him
to tell him, when we see him, just how to reach this brook."

"If the real estate men of Gridley knew of this place," laughed
Greg, "they'd buy up the ground around here and then sell bungalows
at fancy prices to amateur fishermen of means."

"And then the brook would soon cease to be a trout stream," retorted
young Prescott. "A large proportion of the trout would be caught
within a few days, and the rest of 'em scared away to safer breeding
grounds. The only way to keep a trout stream in working order
is not to let many people know about it. It sounds selfish, but
it's good sportsmanship."

Dick soon halted, eyeing a pool so deep that its bottom could
not be seen.

"This looks like a good place to start in," he announced. "I
believe I'll go a little way up stream, and then whip down past
this pool and below. Now, talk only in whispers, if you can remember,
fellows. Trout are shy creatures. Has either of you ever fished