"But we may take them all out of the water before we move from here." "Of course," nodded Laura's father.

"That's what trout are for.
They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water." "Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick.

"I am anxious to see your luncheon under way." "Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more." "Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully, "I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout in the pan." "Mercy!" cried Belle Meade.

"Are you going to cook the trout ?" "After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott," Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else.

Dick is the one trout chef in this part of the country." "Where did he learn ?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion.
"Mr.Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught Dick how to do it," Dave explained.
"Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr.Bentley, holding up a warning finger.