"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."