A RUN OF LUCK 231 



On the two following days the river rose steadily, and 

 was very muddy, and fishing was out of the question, 

 though we made a few futile casts on the Wednesday. 

 On Friday, however, it had cleared, and we fished in 

 earnest. Again luck had its own way. Glendower 

 fished down a pool in masterly fashion, while I sat and 

 rested, admiring his clean casting and long line. But 

 he got no touch, and went on to the next pool, leaving 

 me to go over the water with another fly the Tweed 

 fly already mentioned. The longed-for pull came about 

 a third of the way down, and I played and duly gaffed 

 a fish that might have been twin sister to the fish of 

 Tuesday, sixteen and a half pounds, and not more red 

 than was becoming. I got no other touch that day, 

 but I was quite satisfied. Saturday was a day of events, 

 but not for me. One rod killed a fish of twenty pounds ; 

 my friend Glendower hooked and lost a big one, the fly 

 coming away after some eight minutes of battle ; and a 

 third angler had the ill-luck to lose two, one of them 

 breaking him. I myself fished some pools higher than 

 any I had yet visited, but could not get a rise, and, 

 moreover, there were certain kine with long horns 

 which regarded me with marked disfavour. I carried 

 off the situation by pretending that my rod was a 

 stock-whip, but I was relieved for once by the sight of 

 a stile. 



All next week the water dwindled. Monday was a 

 blank. On Tuesday I had one rise at a small Silver 

 Doctor, but the fish never meant taking. On Wed- 

 nesday the same fly gained another rise of the same 

 inconclusive kind. On Thursday I took train and 

 visited a stretch of water some miles downstream, in 



