158 Sporting Sketches 



like long columns of jet studded with pearls and 

 precious things, while their broken reflections in the 

 creeping tide displayed a wealth of velvet shadow 

 and silver sheen which only the brush of a master 

 of black-and-white could portray. The wharf and 

 club-houses of many colors seemed like the narrow 

 street of some quaint old city, and when a pictu- 

 resque sailorman approached, I half expected to hear 

 him speak in some unknown language. But he did 

 not. Instead, he fluently cursed the prospect of no 

 sport and the weather which prevented the hiring 

 of his sailboat to some fishing party. 



Hill cared not for the weather. His roomy craft 

 was quite a curio in her own way. Her owner, with 

 an eye to calm, or an unfavorable breeze, had 

 equipped her with a gas engine which, when white 

 wings had to be furled, could drive her at fair speed. 



" Can't fool me," he remarked, as he pointed out 

 the engine, wheel, and tanks "I fish for fun, and 

 I want to be able to go and come when I please." 

 He certainly had solved the problem. 



Soon lines were cast off, the engine chug-chugged 

 merrily, and the craft slid seaward in spite of the 

 tide. We lounged at ease in sweaters and knickers, 

 and prepared to enjoy our unusual experience. The 

 engine, unfortunately, could not drive so large a 

 hull fast enough for trolling for "blues," which 

 demands lively progress. But there were other 

 fish in the sea, and while a bout with the blues 

 would have been preferable, the lack of it was not 

 to mar our pleasure. 



Once outside, the sea presented an extraordinary 

 appearance, the like of which I never had beheld. 



