DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 245 



again and there was talk of shooting. I am not 

 fond of the gun in a boat ; I have shot enough to 

 have respect for the death-dealing instrument on 

 land and think it out of place in a crowded boat, 

 so I said : " Let my son show you how we catch 

 our fish." The men were very interested in the 

 tackle and more so in what would happen if a 

 pollack of any size should seize hold of it. Their 

 anxiety to hasten that event caused them to put an 

 earnestness in their pull that sent the boat along 

 much too fast and some time was lost in bringing 

 them to the proper speed with so many oars at 

 work. I saw the rod tip bend in answer to a 

 nibble at the undefended tail of the rubber worm, 

 a taste of which is generally fatal, as it proved in 

 this case ; the disappointed fish came again and 

 took the whole of it and the answering swish 

 hooked it firmly. 



No son of mine was likely to reach Harry's age 

 (twenty-five) without experience with a rod and it 

 is more than possible I was feeling a little vain 

 while watching the rowers who, with arms upon 

 their oars and heads at accommodating angles, 

 strained their eyes to see where the fine blue line 

 was pointing. When an eleven-pound fish resulted 

 I was pleased, but the man most excited was our 

 host, and Harry added to his excitement by hand- 

 ing him the rod for the next effort. Mr M'Cabe 

 had never used a rod ; he had been accustomed to 

 catch his fish with a cord line strong enough to take 

 a pig to market, so no wonder he made a muddle 

 by taking from the winch the two fingers which he 

 had been told were necessary to help the skid when 

 a big fish came on as the ordinary brake might 



