ii2 Sporting Sketches 



When fishing for cats after dark, the boys often 

 started a big bonfire. A lot of fun is mingled with 

 the ashes of those old fires. A row of handlines 

 stretched to the outer darkness, and the boys sat 

 more or less patiently, each holding his cord. A 

 whispered " Got a bite " would stop all conversa- 

 tion, and then would come the quick strike and the 

 unerring snatching as dirty hands flew through 

 their task of recovering the line. If the resistance 

 told of a heavy prize, muttered grunts and inarticu- 

 late exclamations added tenseness to the situation, 

 till the big fish thrashed the surface within the fire's 

 light. Then would go up such a yell of triumph 

 that our folks in near-by houses would not know 

 whether we merely had caught a good one, or had 

 all tumbled into the river. If we eventually turned 

 up, they were, or pretended to be, glad to see us. 

 Sometimes a boy did fall in and win as many yells 

 as a fish, though the yells lacked the ring of true 

 enthusiasm. We were such water-dogs that nobody 

 bothered much. 



At intervals a boy got a bite which puzzled him, 

 though those hands could feel and recognize any 

 fish through forty yards of line. Upon these occa- 

 sions the excitement was keen. The last heave 

 surely would land either a mud-turtle or a mud- 

 puppy. Both of these were awkward customers. 

 The turtle can bite like fury, and fingers had no 

 business near those cutting jaws. The shortest way 

 was to cut free the hook and allow the turtle to 

 keep it as a souvenir. 



The mud-puppy was different. No power on 

 earth could induce a boy to touch that slimy, writh- 



