30 Sporting Sketches 



" How-do-ed ? " to one another across the river, and 

 finally a wailing "bla-a-a-at" from a big tin horn 

 warned us that Jack's father considered it time to 

 lock up his house for the night. 



If there is one thing I dislike more than getting 

 into bed, it surely is getting out again, and Jack had 

 to haul me bodily to the floor in a queer half-light, 

 which he termed morning. He had chores to do 

 before we were free to go, so, after plunging my 

 head into cold water, I bore a hand and helped him 

 out. The rapidity of the feeding process must have 

 delighted and amazed the stock but we wanted to 

 go spearing ! Jack moused round and fixed up two 

 goodly bowls of bread and milk, and as the sun 

 climbed above the woods we were ready to depart. 

 At this juncture Jack thought of an evil thing, and 

 exclaimed: "Say, how'd some hard cider catch you 

 'fore startin' ? Ole man's got a barrel of it, and it's 

 bully ! " 



I rather fancied the scheme, and we sneaked into 

 the cellar and put at least a quart apiece on top of 

 our bread and milk. It was mild, palatable stuff, 

 and it slid so meekly out of the old tin dipper that 

 I trusted it implicitly. Jack spied an empty quart 

 bottle, and, with many low chucklings, we cribbed 

 the full of it and made off. We went first to the 

 mouth of the creek, and found the water in prime 

 condition. Jack, however, was eager to get up- 

 stream, to look for our lost big fish, and he urged 

 me to lose no time, as other spearsmen might be up 

 from town and at the headwaters before us. When 

 we reached the place where the fish had disappeared 

 I halted, while Jack hurried ahead to where the 



