CHAPTER IV 



THE FISHING DAY 



Not long ago I got into a smoking-carriage and 

 found already seated therein, with his rod and bag 

 above him, a distinguished fisher who considers 

 himself one of the veterans of the angling world. He 

 often insists, to the surprise and protest of his 

 friends, that he was, so to say, in his young prime 

 during the consulate of Plancus. And we have to 

 admit that he seems to have a personal knowledge 

 of what a Berkshire keeper of my, and a good 

 many other people's, acquaintance delightfully calls 

 " times been gone by," which argues not a few 

 decades beneath the sun. " I should be afraid to 

 say," observed my friend, " how many years I 

 have been coming up and down now. And do you 

 know " — here his face took on a slightly ashamed, 

 yet happy, expression — " every time I get into 

 this train I enjoy it more. I feel like a schoolboy 

 just off for the holidays." As my friend steps into 

 that train at most week-ends during the trout season 

 it is obvious that his sensations have not lost their 

 keenness by being often repeated. Nor was there 



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