, shook
his jaws as though he would tear the hook loose, then shot downward
again.

"Give him a little on the rod when he hits the water," cried Mr. Bangs.
"That's right. Keep him working now. Don't give him any slack."

Little Tim, alternately reeling in and lifting on the road, and letting
the fish have the line in his angry-rushes, was playing him well. Mr.
Bangs applauded. Gradually the struggles of the big bass grew weaker.
His rushes, still sharp and fierce, were soon over. By and by he turned
on his side.

"Careful now," cautioned Mr. Bangs. "Many a good bass is lost in the
landing. Draw him in easy."

Little Tim followed instructions, and Mr. Bangs deftly slid the landing
net under the prize. He dipped the bass into the boat, took out a small
pair of pocket-scales and weighed him.

"It's a five-pounder!" he exclaimed. "You've beat the record on Whitecap
this year. Well, fisherman's luck is a great thing. You're a born lucky
fisherman."

"Now," he added, "we'll just row down to your camp and I'll cook a
chowder that'll make your eyes stick out, and have it all ready when the
boys return. Save them getting a breakfast."

They went back along shore to the empty camp, deserted by the boys, who
were out for early morning fishing.

"What do you say?" inquired Mr. Bangs, "Think they'll care if I go ahead
and cook up a chowder? Guess I can do it all right. Oh, I've seen 'em
made, a thousand times, up at the Fishing Club."

"They'll be glad of it," said Little Tim. "Go ahead."

Mr. Bangs, rummaging through the campers' stores, proceeded to construct
his chowder; while Tim busied himself about the camp, after building a
fire.

Mr. Bangs, stirring the mess in a big iron kettle suspended above the
blaze, waved a welcome to the boys, as they came in.

"Thought you'd like to have breakfast all ready," he cried. "The
_Flyaway's_ waiting for us all to get through."

They thanked him warmly.

"Oh, I'm having as much fun as you are out of it," he responded. "Get
your plates and I'll fill 'em up."

He ladled out a heaping plate of the chowder for each, and they seated
themselves on two great logs. Henry Burns tasted his mess first, and
then he stopped, looked slyly at his comrades and didn't eat any more.
Harvey got a mouthful, and he gave an exclamation of surprise. Little
Tim swallowed some, and said "Oh, giminy!" Tom and Bob and the Ellison
brothers were each satisfied with one taste. They waited, expectantl