154 Sporting Sketches 



lifted steadily with one hand, while the paddle went 

 slowly over my shoulder. It was risky, but it had 

 to be. 



" Don't ! Don't ! You - condemned - fool - you'll - 

 lose ! " howled the keeper, but his protest was 

 unheeded. 



In all probability the strain I was under somehow 

 got into my arm, for the only fish that possibly 

 could endure such a clip must surely be a fossil and 

 one of the toughest propositions in its line. As it 

 was, the thin-edged paddle bit clear through the 

 spine several inches back of the head instead of 

 where I aimed, but I cared little about that. It 

 wasn't my spine, but it was my paddle and my fish, 

 and when a man can't paddle his own fish the way 

 he has a mind to, things have got out of stroke. 



The light keeper didn't like it. He said that 

 nobody but several sorts of blank fools ever landed 

 fish that way. When I assured him I'd have landed 

 harder if I could have got more of a swing, it didn't 

 improve matters. 



" Why didn't you grab his gills ? Them there 

 teeth look sassy, but they can't actooally hurt 

 nothin' ! " he continued as he poked his fingers 

 into the big mouth which I was holding open for 

 a better view. 



I always claimed the fish slipped in my hands, 

 but he swore quite a lot too that I clapped the 

 jaws shut. 



