234 AMERICAN GAME FISHES. 



A hundred feet below us flowed the noble current, a deep, 

 wide, strong-moving mass of water. Here and there an eddy 

 marked it with its huge circumference. But in the main it 

 moved downward toward the great lake, shining in full 

 view, as a river flows between widened banks and with plenty 

 of room. In the middle of the river, nearly under us, was a 

 canoe with an Indian at either end, and a man in a velveteen 

 jacket standing in the center. In his hands ^^as a rod, and 

 the tip of the rod was doubled backward nigh to the reel, the 

 ringing whir of which filled the air. His pose was that of 

 an angler who had struck a fish — a big fish — a fish that is 

 fighting him gamily and stubbornly, and which he is resist- 

 ing with the cool, determined skill of a veteran of the rod. 



"What a picture," exclaimed the judge "Gad! whai a pict- 

 ure." 



Well might he exclaim, "What a picture!" The wide 

 river; the island-studded lake, into which it emptied; the 

 lofty banks; the great dome of blue sky above; high over the 

 stream, as if hung in mid-air, the long train, every window 

 filled with heads, every platform crowded with forms, the 

 engineer, an angler himself, hanging out of the cab, swinging 

 his hat; below, the canoe, the ochred Indians, the bent body 

 of the angler, the swaying, quivering, doubled-up rod — 

 what a picture. 



Suddenly, we, who were looking, saw the rod straighten. 

 Some of us knew what it meant. The judge clinched my 

 arm, and in an instant out of the water came the Trout, 

 mouth open, fins extended, tail spread. 



"Jerusalem!" screamed the judge. "He's a twenty-poun- 

 der!" 



Dear old judge, thou hast the true angler's eye — that eye 

 which enlarges and multiplies by a happy trick of vision, not 

 merely the size of the fish, but the enjoyment of the soul. 

 Ay, ay, it was a twenty-pounder to both of us old sports for 

 the instant, and if the envious scales did shrink the noble 



