92 Sporting Sketches 



then grab with their hands. It's the difference of 

 apparel does it. 



When I come out of my temporary trance I 

 notice three things. Two of them are stockings, 

 or, rather, liberal portions thereof, while the third 

 is a square fish-tail, a good deal broader than my 

 hand. It flaps a bit and curves in a straining sort 

 of way; but it might as well take things easy, for 

 its owner has about as much chance as a dead fish 

 of getting free from that sadly mussed frock. When 

 I finally get hold of the prize, I hardly know whether 

 to feel mad or glad. It proves to be a black-bass, 

 so large that I cut its spine near the head before 

 daring to trust it to the string. The flush of de- 

 light upon the girl's face helps to mollify my out- 

 raged feelings, but the Old Adam prompts me not 

 to tell it is useless to fish longer in that lucky hole. 

 I compromise with my sense of right by really putting 

 on a better bait, which is a bit too late to do any 

 good. She is perfectly satisfied, and as she watches 

 her idle float I try other spots about the tree. Two 

 more rock-bass are soon taken ; then comes a brief 

 idle period, and, true to the creed of the free folk, 

 I order a change of base. 



Because a girl's only a girl, and somebody might 

 pass in a boat, I carry the big bass, while she fags 

 along behind with the two rods. She hasn't said 

 anything about her wet foot, but I can hear her 

 steps go pat-squiz-pat-squiz as she humbly follows. 

 Some two hundred yards above, a few snaky-look- 

 ing black roots mark another^ fallen tree. It is a 

 very bassy spot, and immediately above lies a sandy- 

 bottomed cove, where nobody who had any sense 



