CHAPTER III 

 MAYFLY DAYS AND DIALOGUES 



[SCENE : straw-roofed fishing-hut, door and windows 

 wide open. Table covered with remnants of luncheon, 

 floor ditto with mineral water and other bottles, very 

 empty. In the shade outside, fishermen lying on the 

 grass gazing at the river, upon which the sun strikes 

 fiercely. Keeper and keeper's boys standing sentinel 

 up and down the meadow, under orders to report the 

 first appearance of mayfly. Heat intense. Swallows 

 hawking over the water. Fields a sheet of yellow butter- 

 cups, with faint lilac lines formed by cuckoo-flowers on 

 the margins of carriers and ditches. Much yawning 

 and silence amongst the lazy sportsmen sprawling in a 

 variety of attitudes ; caps thrown off their sun-scorched 

 faces, waders peeled down to the ankles.] 



R. O. (the Riparian Owner, and host of the party) : 

 Well, it's about time, I fancy, something stirred. The 

 fly was up an hour before this yesterday, and it would 

 be naturally a little later to-day. 



SUFFIELD (a barrister of repute, tall and thin, sar- 

 castic, and a first-rate angler) : I don't believe we 

 shall see a fly till three o'clock, and then we shall have 

 the old game over again short rises and bad language 

 all along the line. Terlan's rod is enough to drive flies 

 and fish out of the county. 



TERLAN (a merry little squire, who takes business and 

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