A BASKET ON ALL FOOLS' 101 



lost. A mile or two away from our headquarters there 

 was a small reservoir on top of a hill where it would 

 be possible to wet a line, though I gathered it would 

 not be very profitable. Also there was the Stickle, a 

 small tributary of the Flood, which we could fish, 

 though it was probable that if the one were out 

 of order the other would be too. Also both rivers 

 cleared very quickly, and, in any case, one cannot 

 be very pessimistic on the eve of one's first spring 

 foray. 



As it turned out, the water proved to be rather high, 

 but not too thick, and we sat down, sleepy but in great 

 spirits, at a little after half-past five to the earliest dish 

 of ham and eggs I think I have ever eaten. After it 

 there was great sorting of tackle, and prolonged dis- 

 cussion as to whether my friend should use his thirteen 

 feet, his eleven feet, his ten feet ten inches, his ten feet, 

 or some other of his comprehensive split-cane armoury ; 

 he is the completest trout fisher that ever I angled 

 with, having the right rod, reel, line, gut, and flies for 

 all occasions, and, what is more, knowing where to 

 find them at any given moment. He at once pro- 

 ceeded to make the sitting-room homelike by putting 

 five or six trout reels in a row on the window table. 

 For a long time I gazed on them in fascinated silence ; 

 they all looked alike, and yet not quite alike, and at 

 last I put the question, Were they all of different 

 sizes or not ? It transpired that they were ; there was 

 a beautiful diminution of a quarter of an inch between 

 each. The lines on them, too, were graded in pro- 

 portion to the reels. Of his rods I have spoken (he 

 eventually decided on his ten feet ten inches), and his 



