Mike, who was stretched out contentedly on a hammock slung between corner posts, opened one eye sleepily. “Depends on what day,” he said.

“I meant tonight.”

Mike held up a hand in protest. “Oh no, please! I won’t be able to touch a bite till next Tuesday.” He sighed happily. “You know, it’s a real pleasure to meet a woman like Mrs. Henderson. She never batted an eye when I asked for thirds.”

“You sent her into a state of shock, most likely,” Sandy ventured. “She couldn’t believe it after what you packed away.”

“I couldn’t believe it myself,” Mike agreed, stretching lazily. “I must have lost my head. Oh, well,” he said, smothering a yawn, “I’m just a poor kid who didn’t know the ropes. Give me another chance, officer. I’ll go straight.”

“All right,” Sandy said severely. “Bread and water for three days. Next case.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you. I’ll never forget you for this.”

“Say,” interrupted Mike’s father, putting his long legs up on the porch railing. “If I can break into your act for a moment, I’d like to find out how things went this morning. We were so busy talking about hunting at lunch that I forgot to find out if you got your feet wet in some white water.”

Sandy and Mike exchanged glances. On their way back to the Hendersons’ they had decided it would be just as well to skip over the experience at Dog Leg Falls.

“Why, sure,” Mike replied casually. “We went through three or four times.”

“Was Doug a good teacher?”

“The best.”

Mr. Cook groped for pipe and tobacco pouch. “I thought Doug acted sort of funny all through lunch. Excited is more what I mean.” He cupped his hand over the pipe bowl and began to fill it. “Anything happen this morning?”

Sandy caught Mike’s eye as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing special.”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Cook was drawing on his pipe. “You knew, didn’t you,” he said between puffs, “that I’d hired a guide?”

Mike propped himself up on one elbow. “No, Dad, you didn’t tell us.”

“Well, I have. Fellow 

 Prev. P 21/97 next