The line spun through my fingers, 

 cutting the gloves like wire. Again 

 the laborious taking in line with 

 many a reel out, exciting but irri- 

 tating. I had long since forgotten 

 the cold, the rain or anything but 

 the unseen will that operated under 

 the veiling water. 



At last I managed to coax that 

 muscalonge within twenty feet and 

 we both saw it. To me it seemed 

 almost as big as the canoe and to 

 land it with that tackle, absurd. 



"He's a gee socker," cried Bert, 

 "and awful foxy. He's working us 

 near the rocks. Don't let 'im get 

 around one and cut the line " 



"Hurry, Bert and get the canoe 

 around the boulder!" I cried des- 

 pairingly. "Hurry, he is doing it 

 Oh, pshaw!" and I collapsed in a 

 heap as the tension was suddenly 

 released and what was left of the 

 line floated to the surface. My 

 "biggest ever" had won. 



I returned to the camp circle 

 empty handed but full of experience. 

 My education was progressing, I was 

 beginning to understand some of the 

 motives in this Wagnerian harmony 



