"Just splendid," replied Laura, sampling her first fork full.

"You boys are camping in a fisherman's paradise," declared Dr.

Bentley. "I don't blame you for liking this life. When I was a boy fresh water fish were almost as plentiful as salt water fish. Now, we rarely find any fresh water fish in the markets.

I can't understand how this choice retreat for fishermen has escaped notice, unless it is because of the almost total lack of inhabitants in this section, and the miserable apologies for roads. Once again I must caution all of you young women not to be indiscreet and spoil this fisherman's paradise for your young friends by talking about it to anyone."

All four of the girls promised absolute secrecy.

After they had all satisfied their hunger, d.i.c.k asked Dr. Bentley all about the St. Clair Lake House. He learned that it was a fine, modern hotel, accommodating about one hundred and fifty guests. It was just on the edge of the good roads, Dr. Bentley explained; this side of the hotel no roads worthy of the name existed. d.i.c.k was very thoughtful after receiving the information, for he had something on his mind.

"How about that chauffeur of yours, doctor?" asked Dave suddenly.

"Oh, we left him with a comfortable luncheon," replied Dr. Bentley.

"He can't leave the car, you know."

"Will you take him two or three trout, sir?" urged d.i.c.k.

"And a ba.s.s, sir?" added Reade.

"We'll wait for him to eat them in the car," replied the physician, "provided the poor fellow hasn't gorged himself on plainer food and has no room left for real fare like this."

When the time came that the guests must really leave, five of the boys accompanied the party to the road. Hazelton remained to watch the camp.

"Now, let's hustle!" urged d.i.c.k, as the car rolled out of sight.

"When we get back to camp we have many long hours of work to do."

"Work of what kind?" inquired Tom.

"First of all," replied Prescott, with his most mysterious air, "we are going to build, close to camp, a make-believe ice-box.

Then we're going to fill the box with ice."

"And what will all that be for?" Dave wanted to know.

"If you can't guess now," smiled young Prescott, his eyes gleaming, "you'll soon begin to see daylight through my plan! I don't know---but I believe that the plan I have in mind is going to work out in great shape!"

CHAPTER XVII

d.i.c.k MAKES FISH TALK

"That's the longest eight miles I've ever done," muttered Hazelton.

"The map is wrong. It's a hundred and eight," affirmed Dave.

"No matter, if the trip turns out to have been wisely planned,"

remarked d.i.c.k, a wistful look coming into his eyes. "Of course, I may have overshot the mark."

"That's a chance we had to take," declared Dave promptly. "We won't be disappointed if we find that we haven't made such a big move, after all."

The three high school boys had halted in the shade of some trees by the highway. A quarter of a mile away, around the head of the body of water known as the third lake, stood a handsome hotel, the St. Clair Lake House.

It was now nearly nine o'clock in the morning. d.i.c.k and his two comrades had been on the way, over the rough road, propelling the heavily laden push cart, from which water now dripped from melting ice. The boys had built their ice-house, or ice-box, whichever one preferred to call it, and they had stocked it with ice from the cave. d.i.c.k, Dave and Greg had whipped up and down the stream in turn; Tom and Dan had trolled the lake for ba.s.s.

As fast as the fish were brought in they were stored on the ice.

After two days of hard fishing the boys arose before four o'clock in the morning, for d.i.c.k was now ready to test his venture.

"Stay close by that box, Harry," warned d.i.c.k, as he took hold of the handles of the push cart.

"Won't I, though?" Hazelton demanded.

d.i.c.k and Dave trudged onward, taking brief turns at the cart.

Thus they entered the hotel grounds at the rear, continuing until they were close up to the rear porch. Then d.i.c.k ascended the steps and knocked at the door. As no one answered, he stepped into the corridor.

"What do you want here?" asked a well-dressed, portly man of fifty, who stepped out of a nearby room.

"I would like to see the manager, or steward, sir," Prescott replied.

"We don't want any help," replied the man.

"I haven't any help to offer, sir," d.i.c.k smiled. "Can I see the steward, or the manager?"

"I'm the proprietor, if that will do," answered the man, giving d.i.c.k a sharp look. He saw that his youthful visitor was evidently a well-bred boy, but that did not prove that d.i.c.k was not looking for work. College boys often serve as bell-boys or waiters at summer hotels.

"If you will step outside then, a moment, sir," Prescott continued, "I think I can show you the nicest lot of black ba.s.s you ever saw."

"A string of ba.s.s, eh?"

"No, sir; quite a load."

"I'll look at them," said the proprietor briefly.

When he saw the quant.i.ty of ba.s.s, and noted the plumpness of the fish, the proprietor was more interested. It is always a problem, with a summer hotel, to serve enough novel food. But the proprietor offered less than half the price d.i.c.k named. The high school boy, however, stuck to his price.

"I can't deal with you, then," said the owner, with a shake of the head, starting to reenter the hotel.

"The Kelway House is about a mile and a half below here, isn't it, sir?" asked Prescott, preparing to push the cart along.

"Yes; but they won't buy fish at that price."

"I'll try them, anyway, sir. Thank you for the trouble you've taken for me. Good morning, sir."

"Hold on, there," interrupted the hotel proprietor. "Perhaps I can offer you a little more."

In his own mind the hotel man was determined that the rival Kelway House should not have the chance to serve these ba.s.s.

More haggling followed, but d.i.c.k stuck to his price. In the end he got it. Scales were brought and the fish weighed. The total came to eighteen dollars and thirty-three cents.