140 Sporting Sketches 



the prize is lost. Heart and soul he is with his 

 master in a game he cannot fathom, and he can 

 barely contain himself. A leap and a grab might 

 help, but he has not been called upon, so he suffers 

 and whimpers and dances in an agony of uncertainty. 

 But the headlong scrimmage slackens to an obsti- 

 nate resistance. " You've asked for it, you beauty ; 

 now you'll get it," I mutter as I shake him up. One 

 minute of doubt, and slowly, proudly, like the king 

 he is, he yields, and a white ray flashes from his 

 snowy belly. 



A low cluck electrifies the dog 'tis a well-under- 

 stood signal. With a visible effort he restrains his 

 impulse to rush, and steadily marches to the water 

 and in up to his shoulders. Cautiously the fish is 

 towed within his reach, and wise from a previous 

 experience with fins, he grips it by the belly and 

 carefully bears it ashore. Is he proud? Does he 

 understand ? Look at him ! He has waited long 

 for this, the crowning moment, and as the released 

 victim flip-flaps in the grass, he dances an accom- 

 paniment of quadrupedal joy unmeasured. Then 

 he shakes himself, takes a roll, and comes twisting 

 and mincing, with deep, gusty breaths which say 

 as plain as words, " We caught that bass ! " 



There were other battles and other triumphs 

 five more in all but let the one suffice. Great 

 fish they were, too, as they tugged the cord which 

 bound them in a shadowed nook. But only a half 

 dozen ? Aye ! Why more ? Two for friends, 

 three for home, and room for one inside. A tiny 

 fire mid the green, a lounge arid a smoke on a 

 scented couch, a search of a thicket for information 



