ICE-FISHING FOR GREAT PIKE 



under affliction, Fate gave the second fish to my chum, 

 and then a third, and a good one, too, a pike that 

 tipped the scales at seven pounds. I emulated Job 

 (outside) and got dinner, frying my friend's first fish. 

 So I had my revenge, and revenge is sweet. So was the 

 great pike, fried in bacon drippings. Fried bacon and 

 great pike, boiled potatoes, bread and butter, coffee, 

 and, to top off with, a quarter-section of old-fashioned 

 back-country mince pie, with great fat raisins to pop 

 in one's mouth! Reader, did you never toast a 

 slice of thick mince pie on a forked stick, cut to fit the 

 pie? "No?" Well, you certainly have got something 

 to live for. 



After lunch my luck turned, and I secured two good 

 fish in short order; indeed, got both on while we were 

 eating. My companion secured the next fish, his 

 fourth, making six in all. I was satisfied, for six fish 

 is indeed a good catch for the winter angler. Many a 

 time have I secured less. My pet set angled away in 

 vain, though my faith in it was not disturbed in the 

 least. I just knew it would win out if given time 

 enough. I vowed I would not look at it, "just for 

 luck," until we were ready to leave the ice. We talked 

 and visited by the fire, speculating upon the coming 

 open season, which was drawing nearer rapidly, dis- 

 cussed the war and religion, the outdoor press, and 

 ancient literature, with that catholicity of taste so 

 characteristic of all anglers from Izaak Walton down. 

 Ever and anon we would examine our sets, though my 

 first was approached by neither. My friend secured 

 another fish along toward four o'clock, and his pride 

 and lordliness were greatly increased thereby. Strange, 

 how a little bit of luck will set up some people. 



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