One glance he took at the brave heading that began the page. The title
was quite enough for Max. With a broad grin he quietly laid it down,
gave the industrious writer one amused look, and walked away again,
without Bandy-legs knowing of the visit.

And no wonder Max felt amused, for what he had seen spread across that
page, in letters that were heavily underscored, was this wonderful
title:

"Programme for meals during six more days to be spent on Catamount
Island!"

Bandy-legs was trying to forget all his troubles by laying out the
_menu_ for the balance of their week.

It was about an hour before sundown that Steve came hurriedly into camp.
he carried a pretty good mess of fish, which attested to the fact that,
impatient as he was in nearly everything else, at the same time he
seemed to be a pretty fair waiter when holding a rod and reel in his
hand. Perhaps the constant expectation of a bite kept him in decent
humor.

But now Max saw that he was considerably excited.

"What ails you, Steve?" asked Owen, who also detected some unusual signs
of disgust about the returned fisherman; "did the biggest get away, like
it always does? Well, we'll believe you, never fear; especially if he
yanked your hook off, and broke your line in the bargain. How big do you
think he was, Steve?"