THREE FISH 65 



Fortunately it was short, but it was very sharp and 

 left me wet to the skin. One by one the village again 

 turned up with lots of advice, as is always the way, but 

 no sensible action. Would no one wade in for me 

 and move that fish? No one, of course. Indeed, 

 by general consent there was only one person at all 

 capable of tackling such a difficulty — a downright 

 good fisherman and no mistake, and that was Mick, 

 the mole-catcher. But Mick was away at his traps. 

 Somebody thought he could fetch him. 



It was seven o'clock, and Mick was long in coming. 

 There was nothing for it but to hang on. I was stay- 

 ing at a house some five miles off, and that evening 

 there was a rather particular dinner. Anyhow, I was 

 wet and cold and wanted that fish out. 



At last there was a shout and a crowding round 

 that told of the coming of Mick. He was a long, 

 foolish-looking chap, evidently flattered by his dis- 

 tinguished reception. 



But Mick was not such a fool as he looked. 

 Wade in there ? Not he. Not for twenty salmon : 

 he knew that pool too well. So there was nothing for 

 it. I must go, and Mick should take the rod. 



Hanging up on a tree was a huge landing-net with 

 a good strong handle, not the sort of thing I should 



