thought the Armatage boy was letting his fancy run wild at this present
moment.

"It is a cat," murmured Frane. "I can see his whiskers moving. Yep, a
big fellow! Want to see?" and he took his eye away from the bark
cylinder.

"Can you see his teeth and his claws and his fur and his tail?" demanded
Russ scornfully, and without offering to take the cylinder. He did not
intend to be fooled so easily.

"What are you talking about?" hissed Frane. "And speak quietly. You'll
drive him away."

"Cats aren't so easily scared," said Russ. "You have to peg stones at
'em to drive 'em away."

"Huh!" sniffed Frane. "Funny cats up North. I don't believe you have any
up there."

"You're right we don't," agreed Russ, and now he laughed again. "Not
any cats that swim. Cats hate the water----"

"Aw, shucks! I'm not talking about cats!" exclaimed Frane. "I'm talking
about catfish."

"Oh!" ejaculated the Northern boy.

"You know a catfish, don't you? It has feelers that we call whiskers.
Awful nice eating, for they only have a backbone."