1 68 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



seriously ill. We were two hundred and fifty 

 miles away from London at the time, but ignoring 

 both fishing and distance, the Major went off 

 by the next train to see his old friend. These 

 things were typical of the man ; and it would 

 be typical of him, if he knew what I was saying 

 about him, to ejaculate, "You blithering idiot ! 

 Cut it out ! " 



One never knew, in the course of a long 

 holiday, what interesting personality one would 

 meet, either when fishing or when seeing the 

 country. Calling one day at a hotel on the Welsh 

 border, I found that the host was formerly a 

 member of the Metropolitan police force ; testi- 

 monials and addresses on the walls showed good 

 work done. At another hotel, in the neighbour- 

 hood of which the rivers Lugg and Arrow meet, 

 I was struck by the musical speaking voice of the 

 landlord. I later remarked on this to a friend, 

 who told me that mine host used to be a member 

 of Lincoln's Inn choir, that he afterwards joined 

 the Temple choir ; and that he had sung at the 

 coronations of King Edward and King George. 



Another landlord, of an inn in a Shropshire 

 town, was one of the best fishermen in the town 

 and district, and he was also the possessor of quite 

 a valuable collection of antiques. He loved his 

 collection, and though he had been offered two 

 thousand pounds for the contents of one room, 

 he could not part with the things. They " be- 

 longed " to him. In collecting them, year after 

 year, in arranging them, and tending them as 



