CHAPTER XI. 



LONG' LAKE. A LESSON IN BAITCASTING. TOBY SNUF- 

 FLES AND THE LITTLE SCHOOL MARM. UP 

 TO DATE BARBERING. 



Once on a time, when I did not know any better, 

 I offered to initiate a friend of mine into the myste- 

 ries of bait-casting. He was an alderman, and as 

 I was depending upon his influence to obtain a gov- 

 ernment position for a distant and aged relation, 

 namely, that of scrub lady in the county dog pound, 

 I felt I could ill afford to jeopardize her future pros- 

 pects by being anything else than immeasurably cor- 

 dial and blind to any questionable conduct of which 

 he might be guilty. Beyond saying my pupil was a 

 genial, good-natured, fat man, I will not further dis- 

 close his identity. 



We selected Long Lake as the scene of our opera- 

 tions, and at the end of three hours he had so far 

 advanced as to occasionally make a cast without im- 

 paling one or another of those odd portions of my 

 anatomy which everlastingly appeared to get in the 

 path of his hook. My ears in particular appeared to 

 bother him, for it seemed an utter impossibility for 

 him to make three consecutive casts without stick- 

 ing his hook into one of them. In fact, whenever he 

 missed his hook, it got to be the recognized thing to 

 search my ears before looking further. 



However the lesson was over at last, and together 

 we came ashore; he jubilant at his proficiency, and 

 I mentally calculating the time which would have to 

 elapse before the ragged edges of my ears would cease 

 to resemble a broken mushroom. 



The amount of dodging I was forced to keep up 

 during this trip reminded me of my first sweetheart 

 (81) 



