Fly-Fishing' in the Bavarian Highlands. 59 



was free. It was then the most natural thing 

 in the world to stroll up these branches, fly- 

 rod in hand, though, so far as any success 

 went, we might as well have left our tackle at 

 the inn. In the middle of supper our after- 

 noon's fishing was recalled to our minds by an 

 inquiry by the host as to whether we had 

 been fishing that afternoon, as the fisherman 

 was complaining about it. As he was actually 

 in the hotel, it was obviously best to smooth 

 his ruffled feathers, make our excuses, and obtain 

 permission for a day or two's angling. But 

 our diplomacy was in vain, the fisherman was 

 angry, not to say rude, and the interview ended 

 to everybody's dissatisfaction. We thought we 

 had done with our friend, but he seemed to 

 have the knack of surprising us at the most 

 unexpected moments. Next morning, as I was 

 preparing to shave, arrayed in slippers, knicker- 

 bockers, and shirt, a rather loud knock made 

 me expect a supply of hot water. But it was 

 hot water of another kind to what I anticipated. 

 To my astonishment, on opening the door, I 

 found myself confronted by quite a fine-looking 

 person in green uniform, with a sword by his 

 side, who proved to be the Oberstdorf edition 



