And he had brought back a trout that weighed practically eight pounds, dressed.

The peanut butcher knew; he had seen it with his own eyes.

They had it hanging in the window of the California Market, and there was a crowd around the window all the time.

He knew; he had seen the crowd, and he had seen the fish; and he knew the fellow who had caught it.
Unless he could go with a crowd, Jack did not care much about fishing.
He liked the fun the gang could have together in the wilds, but that was all; like last summer when Hen had run into the hornet's nest hanging on a bush and thought it was an oriole's basket! Alone and weighed down with horror as he was, Jack could not stir up any enthusiasm for the sport.

But he found out that it would not cost much to reach the little town called Quincy, of which he had never before heard.
No one, surely, would ever think of looking there for him.