88 Sporting Sketches 



and they know it. Because no living mortal pos- 

 sibly can fish and keep track of a well-trained dog 

 and a half-broke girl at the same time, he wisely 

 leaves one or the other at home. Neither means 

 to do anything wrong, but they invariably play the 

 mischief when they get out together. It is true 

 that the dog never would think of spitting on a 

 stick and throwing it for the girl to fetch, nor would 

 he say: "Come to me, you poor thing. I'll love 

 you when your nasty boss is cross with you. You 

 may run and splash as much as you have a mind 

 to." To be candid, I think the dog would be all 

 right, but then there's the lunch-basket. The up- 

 shot of the matter is that the dog receives a crisp 

 order which causes him to tuck his tail and slink to 

 the back premises, where he will sulk and hate the 

 girl for at least twenty minutes. He will make no 

 attempt at sneaking after. He knows better than 

 that. But he will sit outside the gate and gaze far 

 up the road from midafternoon until he sees two 

 distant figures emerge from the tangle of a hedge. 



But to the fishing. Because the ancient order of 

 things was that all females should do all the uninter- 

 esting work, because the girl has filled the basket, 

 and because she's duffer enough to stand for it, I 

 just let her carry it. This glorious privilege is fairly 

 jumped at. She'd gladly carry the two rods as 

 well, but they are not like lunch. They are man's 

 tackle, and only the lordly masculine paw under- 

 stands just how they should be clutched. It is the 

 same with the bait-box. No self-respecting bait- 

 box ever would stay shut in any but a masculine 

 pocket. In a skirt-pocket, it just opens and lets 



