FISHING FOR CRAPPIE 



woman is, the better, and a broad-brimmed 

 straw hat makes a good frame for their rubi- 

 cund faces. The pole is grasped firmly, and 

 the cork, or " float," if one is used, is 

 scrutinized with painful fixity of gaze. The 

 sun beats down, strikes the water, and glances 

 into the eyes of the immovable angler. He 

 never even winks. As though moulded in 

 bronze, he watches the cork. Should a boat 

 approach as though coming to disturb the 

 water near the boat, his tense brow wrinkles 

 in disapprobation, but he watches the cork. 



If the occupants of the oncoming skiff 

 should hold up a fine string of fish, he will eye 

 them hungrily with just the tail of one eye, 

 but he watches the cork. If news is brought 

 of war, pestilence, treason, sudden death, 

 throne-agitating happenings of dreadful im- 

 port, news of vast and awful portent, he sim- 

 ply closes his jaws tighter, mutters " um, 

 hum," or "ah-ha," and still watches the cork. 

 For statuelike contemplation, stolidity of ex- 

 pression, and stoic patience, not even a graven 

 image can equal the face of the fat man or 

 woman who, on a hot day, when crappies 

 are biting, watches the cork. 

 45 



