A Vancouver Salmon 203 



couple ofr inches below the surface to allow us to 

 examine it at our leisure. Its jaws were quite arched 

 and pointed, not unlike the beak of an eagle. Quoth 

 W , " That's a salmon and a good one ; pull him 

 in!" 



I looked a moment longer and noticed that the 

 fish was hooked foul, for the barb had pierced the 

 side of its head, and it could not break away unless 

 spoon or cord gave out. It had come in so easily 

 and lay there so placidly that I despised it, and care- 

 lessly raised the head above water, and said : 



" Well, if this is a sample of your salmon-trolling, 

 I don't wonder you hesitated to talk about it. Why, 

 that big duffer is the worst cur ever I saw ; he hasn't 

 got enough sand in him to make a splash, let 

 alone " 



Something had happened! For an instant I 

 could not realize what it was. I knew I had raised 

 the fish's head above water, and that the jaws had 

 snapped once or twice. It must have understood 

 and taken affront at my remark about its inability 

 to splash. A quart of salt water struck me in the 

 face, and still the fish splashed, and splashed, and 

 splashed, sending showers all over us, flirting water 

 with sudden sweeps of its powerful tail, as a bathing 

 boy splashes with a hand. 



W , daintily garbed W , got mad. He roared 

 and waxed abusive and tried to secure a paddle with 

 which to slay the thing. I offered it slack, but it 

 would have none, but merely wallowed about, splash- 

 ing unceasingly. I strove to twist it aboard, but got 

 deluged, and so did the cushions and the carpet, 

 also W 's natty suit. Then I got mad, hauled 



