Chet’s rhapsody came to an abrupt halt when Joe hurled a wet towel that caught him squarely on the back of the neck. Frank, who had been appointed cook for the day, put a stop to hostilities by announcing breakfast just then and the lads sat down to piping hot plates of ham and eggs, accompanied by fragrant coffee.
The big surprise came when Frank, with a flourish, drew aside a curtain that had been screening a mysterious table in one corner of the big room. Here, the Hardy boys had put their presents to each other and to their chums. There was a handsome pair of boxing gloves for Biff and a glittering, nickel-plated flashlight for Chet. Frank had given his brother a new watch-chain and Joe, in turn, had given Frank a pair of cufflinks with his initials engraved thereon.
“Well,” said Chet, admiring the flashlight and switching it on and off to see that it was in good working order, after the boys had exchanged thanks for the gifts, “Biff and I thought we were putting something across, too, but you got ahead of us.”
And, going into the kitchen, he emerged with some mysterious-looking parcels which he promptly distributed. These were the presents Biff and Chet had arranged to give the Hardy boys and to each other. Frank received a pair of ski-boots and Joe the same. Biff’s enthusiasm over a punching bag was long and loud, while Chet himself was delighted with a little book of tickets to the best motion picture house in Bayport.
“I see where I won’t do much homework until these tickets are used up,” he said, with a wink.
Their presents having been duly examined and admired, the lads donned their outing clothes, with the exception of Frank. As cook, it was his duty to stay and prepare the Christmas dinner, at the same time keeping an eye on the rocks where the supplies had been hidden. The base of the cliff was in plain view of the big cabin window so there was little danger that the owner of the mysterious notebook would approach unobserved.
“What if he should chance along while you’re all away?”
“We never thought of that,” said Biff, in dismay. “You couldn’t very well handle him alone.”
“How about your rifle?” Joe suggested.
“The very thing! Even if you chaps go as far as the mainland, you will be able to hear a rifle shot. I’ll fire one shot into the air and that will be the signal to come back as quickly as you can. If he tries to get away, you can easily head him off in the iceboat.”
This arrangement seemed to preclude any possibility of the stranger’s escape if he chanced to show up, so Joe, Chet and Biff trooped out. For the morning, they had decided to stay close to the cabin, “so there won’t be any risk of missing dinner,” as Chet explained, and amuse themselves by fishing through the ice. So, with lines ready and hooks baited with pieces of salt pork, they made their way down the slope and out on the ice.
There they set to work with their hatchets and soon had three holes chopped in the ice. They dropped in their lines and from then on it was a game to see who would catch the first fish. Chet, of course, raised a clamor every few minutes, claiming that he had a bite, but somehow the fish always managed to get away.
“No wonder,” grumbled Biff. “You scare ’em away, with all that racket. Try being quiet for a while and see how it works.”
To the astonishment of the others, Chet actually did manage to refrain from noise for the space of five minutes and the plan evidently had good results—but not for Chet. Joe suddenly gave his line a yank. A silvery body flashed through the air and flopped wildly on the ice.
He had caught a good-sized fish and when it had been despatched, the others returned to the ice-holes with renewed enthusiasm. Within a few minutes, Biff was the fortunate one, and a second fish was laid to rest on the ice beside the first. Chet endured the chaffing of the others, who elaborately complimented him on his skill. A moment later, he gave a yell of delight.
“I’ve got one! I’ve got one!”
He began to haul and tug at the line.
“A whopper!” gasped Chet. “I can hardly pull him in.”
The other boys watched his efforts, their eyes bulging. Chet was struggling with all his might and although he was gradually drawing in his line, there seemed to be a tremendous weight on the end of it.
“Must be a whale!” grunted Chet. “Ah—here he comes!”
He drew in his prize. It rose above the surface of the water. Chet stared at it in disgust.
The “fish” was nothing more than a very battered pail. Chet’s hook had somehow caught the handle. Full of water and mud, the pail had almost broken the stout line by its weight.
Joe and Biff whooped with laughter. Joe gave the pail a kick that sent it back into the water again.
“Some fish!” yelled Joe.
“It wasn’t a whale. It was a pail!”
Chet glared at his companions.
“I’ll show you!” he said.
He baited his hook and again cast in his line. Immediately there was a lively wrench. Chet gave the line a twitch, and this time he did catch a fish. The only drawback to his enjoyment lay in the fact that it was only about four inches long.
“A sardine!” grinned Joe.
However, Chet placed his capture beside the other fish, just as proudly as though it were a ten-pounder.
“It isn’t any fault that I caught it before it had time to grow a little more. It might just as easily have been a big one,” he said.
The fishing became cold sport after a while, inasmuch as the boys were obliged to stay in the one place and could not move around enough to get exercise. They soon began to feel the cold and before
