The Black Bass of Kankakee. 323 
much of anything to do in the shop. 
Three o’clock passed, the usual hour 
for starting out, but it didn’t phase me 
any more than a mule would a stone 
wall. Another hour passed. The type 
**stick’’ dropped on the case, and the 
rod slipped out of its usual resting 
place. Fifteen minutes later I was 
throwing a four inch shiner just over a 
clear pool of water about three feet 
deep, where workmen a few weeks 
before during low water had been ex- 
cavating stone. Great guns! what was 
that? How the water around that 
stone pile danced. There were great 
Tents in it, as if some one had taken a 
piece in each hand and tore it apart. 
My bamboo was nodding and flopping 
around likea thing of life. Then there 
was a rush, a sudden stop and shoot up 
into the air. I found myself following 
every motion of the rod. Then a noise 
on the bank of the river attracted my 
attention. I looked around and sawa 
stranger standing there watching me. 
No! he was not standing, for like my- 
self he was going through the same 
antics that my rod performed. First 
one side then the other, and he never 
knew that I saw him. Well! I landed 
my beauty, a 3 1b. small-mouth by 
actual weight. 
At a quarter past six I was back at 
the office with ten small-mouths. The 
three largest weighed 7% lb., and the 
four largest 9 lb., and the whole string 
of ten tipped the beam at 15% Ib. 
That was fun enough for two hours, and 
I think it was one of the most enjoyable 
periods of time Ieverexperienced. But 
one can’t make a catch like that every 
day, though I very seldom miss an 
evening’s angling when the conditions 
are anyway favorable, and there have 
been only a very few when IJ have not 
brought in a nice string. 



