IN THE WOODS
The boys tried to learn in which direction the old man had gone, but he was not in sight. They listened to hear if he was tramping through the bushes, but there was not a sound.
“Looks as though he went through a hole in the earth,” spoke Fenn. “But never mind. His keepers are probably after him. He seems harmless enough.”
“Sometimes that’s the worst kind,” commented Ned. “We had better be on the lookout for him. He might come upon us unexpectedly.”
But the boys reached the Riffles a little while after this, and, in the excitement of hauling out a number of fish, for the sport was good, they forgot about the queer old man.
“I wonder who he could have been?” asked Frank, after a silence of half an hour following the landing of several chub and perch.
“Who?” asked Ned.
“The King of Paprica.”
“Oh, him. I’d forgotten all about it. What makes you keep thinking of it?”
“I can’t help it,” replied Frank, so solemnly that his chums looked at him in some surprise.
“I believe there is something about that man which will bear investigating. No one ever heard of a crazy person being loose in these woods before, and there’s no lunatic asylum near by from which he could have escaped. I tell you it looks queer.”
“Sometimes lunatics travel hundreds of miles,” put in Bart. “I read of one, once, that escaped, and was found a good while afterward in some place in Europe.”
“Say, did we come here to talk about odd folks or to fish?” asked Ned somewhat sharply. “If we’re going to fish let’s do it. All this talk will scare ’em away.”
“That’s what I say,” added Fenn. “Let’s finish up and go home.”
“Got a date to take a walk and gather wild flowers with some girl, Stumpy?” asked Frank.
“Well, it’s as much fun as talking about a crazy man,” retorted Fenn.
“Whoop! I’ve got a big one!” ejaculated Ned, and he pulled a wiggling beauty ashore.
It was the best catch so far, and the other boys congratulated Ned on his luck. Several other large-sized fish were pulled out after that until the boys’ baskets were nearly full.
“Haven’t we got plenty?” asked Frank. “Let’s quit and eat.”
“Good enough!” exclaimed Bart. “I’ve got a vacancy just beneath my belt,” and he patted the region of his stomach in a suggestive manner.
Frank, who had charge of the lunch basket, into which the boys had put what they had brought from home, opened it. As he was handing around the sandwiches there was a noise in the bushes behind where the lads were seated. They started, thinking it might be the strange man again, but they were relieved when they saw it was Jim Nelson, who had the reputation of being the laziest boy in town.
“Hello, Jim,” called Ned.
“Um,” grunted Jim. It seemed too much of an effort to speak. “Bait?” he asked, with a motion toward his own fishing tackle which he carried over his shoulder.
“Well, if you aren’t the limit!” exclaimed Ned. “You started off fishing and depended on finding some one to lend you the bait. Too lazy to dig it, I suppose?”
“Tired,” responded Jim, as if that explained it all. “Throw over,” he added, which the boys construed into a request that the bait can be passed over, since Jim had flopped down in a comfortable attitude on the bank.
“The very nerve of you makes you a delight,” spoke Bart as he tossed the tin can where Jim could get it. The bait fell a little out of the lazy lad’s reach. Instead of getting up for it he looked around in search of a stick with which he could poke it toward himself. There was one near his foot.
Jim reached out until he could touch the tree branch with the toe of his shoe. Then he manipulated the little club until he could get his fingers on it, which took several minutes. Once it was in his hands he managed to reach the bait can and drew it toward him. All this while he was stretched out on his back.
Still in this position he baited his hook and then, without looking to see where it landed, he threw the weighted line in the direction of the river. The hook struck just on the edge of the bank on which Jim reclined, but he could not see this and thought it had dropped into the water. The chums looked on at this exhibition of laziness, though it was no new thing to them.
“Think you’ll catch anything, Jim?” asked Frank.
“Hope not, have to pull it in, and I’m tired,” responded the recumbent lad.
“Oh, we’ll do it for you,” said Bart.
“Um,” grunted Jim, that probably being his thanks.
The four comrades were munching their sandwiches, and once in a while Jim would turn his head and look at them. He was hungry but too lazy to ask for something to eat.
“Watch me,” whispered Ned to his companions, and then he prepared to tantalize Jim.
Ned took a piece of cake and tied it to a string. The cord he fastened to the end of his fishing pole and then, moving silently through the bushes, he took a position directly behind Jim, and some distance away.
Slowly Ned raised the pole with its dangling string and bit of cake until the latter was poised right over Jim’s head. Then he slowly lowered the dainty until it was within a few inches of Jim’s mouth.
“A new way to feed lazy folks,” observed Bart in a low tone.
The cake was held there a few minutes, but Jim seemed unaware of its presence. Ned could not understand it. Then Fenn looked over and saw that Jim was asleep.
“Can’t have the trick spoiled that way,” murmured Frank, and tossed a little pebble that hit Jim on the face. The lazy boy opened his eyes, and saw the choice bit of cake directly over his mouth. It was coming right down to him, after the manner in which cocoanuts, bananas and oranges are said to drop into the hands of the happy dwellers in tropical climes.
“Now for some fun,” whispered Fenn.
The cake was almost in Jim’s mouth. He opened his jaws. A happy look came over his face. He had his lips on the dainty, when, with a quick motion, Ned jerked it away.
Jim was so surprised he did not know what to do. The disgusted look on his face made the other boys burst into a roar of laughter. Jim raised himself on his elbow and looked at the conspirators.
“Um!” he ejaculated. He was too lazy to get mad. Then he went off in another doze.
Ned went back to join his companions, all of them still laughing at the joke.
“Let’s make him believe he’s caught something,” suggested Fenn. “Tie something to his line.”
“It’s your turn,” spoke Ned, and Fenn nodded assent.
He made his way quietly down the bank until he could pull Jim’s hook from the water which just touched it. He
