CHAPTER XII 



THE SUN-PERCH AND THE CATFISH 



Two fishermen, father and son, the older already 

 growing grey and the younger still a youth, were 

 sitting on the bank of a river, keeping an eye on their 

 floats. They watched keenly for the slightest sign of 

 a bite. Suddenly, one of the floats moved sharply, 

 whirled round and round, and literally went down 

 like a shot. The older fisherman seized the line, gave 

 it a sharp tug to hook the catch, then pulled it out, 

 bringing to land a quivering little fish which sparkled 

 in the sunlight. He let it drop on the grass and looked 

 at it with some disgust. 



" Another of them," he said. " We've had nothing 

 but this rubbish since we started. And there's about 

 five pounds of them in the basket already. Put it with 

 the others, " he said to his son, " and let us finish. I've 

 had enough. These sun-perch are more bother than 

 they're worth." 



" I'm with you," his son said. " But there's a certain 

 amount of fun in it. You've only to bait the hook, 

 throw in the line, and you get a bite and a fish at once. 

 It's true they're never any size, and they don't look much 

 when they're cooked. But they are pretty when they 

 come out of the water, and as we get so many of them, 

 they don't make a bad dish." 



" Yes, yes," grumbled the father. " But they're not 

 so good as all that. Not much flesh and too many 

 bones. How different from the genuine perch we used 

 to have, which these new imitation perch have chased 

 away. They were really plump and well fleshed. In 

 this very spot, I've sometimes caught one weighing 

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