gS DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



on. In spite of this I did not trust him with all 

 the baits. 



They, my friend and the editor, successfully dodged 

 the numerous enemies that hover near the artist's 

 bait-can; indeed, it caused no trouble until the jolting 

 of the train splashed water from it that trickled in 

 little rivulets, not towards the nearest door, but away 

 down country, where two pair of ladies' feet hung on 

 ankles that were much in e\idence as skirts were 

 drawn up to avoid the coming tides; but the artist's 

 dreamy blue eyes saw only, through the panelling 

 of the coach, the outlines of his next week's sheet, 

 and the editor's spirit was in its editorial chair until 

 the rustle of skirts made him blink, and then fairly 

 stare, at the feet and ankles that hung about. 



'Surbiton, Surbiton' in porters' voices woke him 

 thoroughly, and the man for the position popped his 

 head out and shouted, 'Paper ! Paper !' and very 

 soon half a dozen sheets were opened and crumpled 

 into cushions for the ladies' feet. The editor is in 

 his element when ordinary men v/ould be gazing 

 blankly for inspiration. To prevent the splashing 

 of the bait-can was to him a simple problem, and 

 was instantly solved by placing his rods from seat 

 to seat and hanging it upon them, and there it hung 

 without a tear, and was soon forgotten in the ani- 

 mated conversation that ensued between the sports- 

 men and the ladies. No one knows what might have 

 been said before they reached Salisbury had not the 

 handle of the bait-can lost its central bearing and shd 

 until it hung on by a comer and thus emptied itself 

 of its contents, excepting one strong dace which 

 stayed behind to drum in the otherwise empty tin. 

 Fortunately the train was just then entering Basing- 

 stoke station, where the editor's voice, calling for 

 'Paper, porter ! Porter, paper !' soon brought to him 

 all he needed for the thirsty baits and for fresh cushions 

 for the ladies' feet. 



