and I most certainly expect to use its principles
when I reach the fishing stream. Let x express my equipment and myself,
let y equal skill and patience; x we shall say also equals the number 7,
while y equals the number 5. Now the fish are represented by z which
is equal to 12. It is obvious even to slow minds like yours and
Pennington's that neither x nor y alone can equal z, the fish, otherwise
12, but when combined they represent that value exactly, that is x plus y
equals 12. So, if I and my equipment coordinate perfectly with my skill
and patience, which most certainly will happen, the fish are as good as
caught by me already. The rest is a mere matter of counting."

"Best give in, Dick," said Pennington. "He'll always prove to you by his
algebra that he knows everything, and that everything he does is right.
Of course, he's the best fisherman in the world!"

"I'd have you to know, Francis Pennington," said Warner, with dignity,
"that I was a very good fisherman when I was five years old, and that
I've been improving ever since, and that Vermont is full of fine deep
streams, in which one can fish with pleasure and profit. What do you
know, you prairie-bred young ruffian, about fishing? I've heard that
your creeks and brooks are nothing but strips of muddy dew. The Platte
River itself, I believe, is nearly two inches deep at its deepest parts.
I don't suppose there's another stream in America which takes up so much
space on the map and so little on the ground."

"The Platte is a noble river," rejoined Pennington. "What it lacks in
depth it makes up in length, and I'll not have it insulted by anybody in
its absence."

While they talked they passed through the brown woods and came to the
creek, flowing with a fine volume of water down from the mountains into
one of the rivers of the valley.

"It's up to its advertisements," said Warner, looking at it with
satisfaction. "It's clear, deep and it ought to have plenty of good
fish. I see a snug place between the roots of that oak growing upon the
bank, and there I sit."

"There are plenty of good places," said Dick, as they seated themselves
and unwrapped their lines, "and I've a notion that our fishing is going
to prove good. Isn't it fine? Why, it's like being back home!"

"Time's rolled back and we're just boys again," said Pennington.

"Don't try to be poetic, Frank," said Warner. "I've told you already
that a man who has nothing but muddy str