Bruno picked up the trout, so queerly brought to light, really
surprised, but feigning still further, as he made his
examination.

"It really IS a trout, and--how long have you carried this about
in your clothes, Waldo Gillespie?"

"Not long enough for you to build a decent joke over it, brother
mine. Just happened so. Tried to ram its nose in one of my
pockets, and of course I had to take him in out of the wet.
Pool's just full of them, too, and I wouldn't wonder if--oh, quit
your talking, and do something, can't you, boy?"

Vigorously though he spoke, Waldo wound up with a shiver and
sharp chatter of teeth as the fresh morning air struck through
his dripping garments. He gave a coltish prance, as he turned to
seek his fishing tackle; but, unfortunately for his hopes of
speedy sport, the professor was nigh enough to both see and hear,
and at once took charge of the reckless youngster.

"Wet to the hide, and upon an empty stomach, too! You foolish
child! Come, strip to the buff, and put on some of these
garments until--here by the fire, Waldo."

And thus taken in tow, the lad was forced to slowly but
thoroughly toast his person beside the freshly started fire,
ruefully watching his brother deftly handle rod and line, in a
remarkably short space of time killing trout enough to furnish
all with a bounteous meal.