CHAPTER X 

 TWO RED LETTER SALMON 



IT is not often that the angling clubs which encourage 

 prize-taking offer booby consolations for the smallest 

 fish, but I have known exceptions, especially at the 

 holiday competitions by the seaside. The biggest fish 

 are another matter altogether. Sooner or later the 

 world is bound to hear of them. And who dare say us 

 nay ? That man was not a fool who wanted to know, 

 if you did not blow your own trumpet, who was to 

 blow it ? Blowing it need be neither boasting nor 

 defiance. In this honest belief I shall try for a while 

 to forget the butcher's bill in Flanders by recalling the 

 capture of my biggest salmon, and that of a still bigger 

 one by a friend during the same bygone back-end on 

 Tweed, leaving the general memories of autumn days 

 on the great Border river for future revival. 



It was during Mr. Arthur N. Gilbey's tenancy of the 

 Carham water, and he was, besides being my host, also 

 the hero of the very best of the two salmon which are 

 my text. He rented a country house overlooking the 

 river, with the fishing, and no fortunate angler who 

 sojourned under his roof in those good days can ever 

 forget the puzzle into which he fell while deciding 

 whether it was the gentle hostess or the ever-con- 

 siderate host who most contributed to his happiness. 

 Among the bright Carham remembrances no_one will 



