DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 159 



You may clear a space in which to breathe by 

 smoking ; but they hover near, waiting to pounce. 

 Yesterday I smoked from morn till night to keep 

 them off, and my tongue was so dried up this morn- 

 ing that I almost vowed to give up smoking alto- 

 gether, but, on second thoughts, preferred to try 

 myself with a preliminary day or two. So far it's 

 noon 'language is all I have used to drive them off, 

 and, disrespectful as the tenor of what I've said has 

 been, they are with me still. Talking may much 

 relieve our feelings but it kills no flies. To kill as 

 many as they can gives men no compunction ; but 

 what's the good of slaying? Countless numbers 

 sniff the blood and thirst for vengeance. If one 

 only had the patience of Job so as to be able to 

 hold one's hand and tongue in such a case ! Then 

 surely a crown would drop from out the sky to deck 

 the brow of so patient a man, possibly so slight of 

 texture that no human eye could see it, but the little 

 midge would know its meaning and, with a dip, 

 would pass him by. 



Where, I wonder, are those millions, which form 

 the scum that covers the river's surface, going? 

 Not where they are often wished, I hope, or another 

 terror will be added to that dread place. 



The air was thickened with endless columns, 

 particles of which rose and fell in concerted playful 

 mirth. I must move again. I really think the 

 apertures in which my eyes are fixed must be closing 

 up. This is an awful day and it is only four o'clock. 

 I can hear a reader say : " Smoke, you foolish 

 man." 



The reel had made no noise, but I heard a flop- 

 ping ; so I jumped yes, jumped and ran ; to find 



