152 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



The evening of that day found us on board a 

 vestibule Northwestern train, bound for Duluth 

 and the Nepigon. At Duluth we exchanged rolling 

 for sailing by steam. If the weather had been at 

 all nasty, we should have combined rolling with 

 sailing; for the little tub which plies between Port 

 Arthur and Duluth was evidently designed to 

 exemplify all the possibilities in the way of tumb- 

 ling about. But Lake Superior was on its good 

 behaviour, with its face as smooth and calm as 

 that of a sportsman when he has just landed a 

 five-pound trout. The captain was one of the most 

 genial of men, and the cook was undoubtedly a 

 genius. We were not privileged to meet him per- 

 sonally, but we had abundant evidence of his culi- 

 nary skill. The memory of his soup will linger 

 with us forever. After mature deliberation we 

 unanimously agreed that it was unlike anything 

 we had ever tasted. We tasted it but once, for what- 

 ever other failings we may have, we are not greedy 

 at least for soup made from a strong decoction 

 of musty hay, flavoured with extract of logwood. 

 The polite waiter, observing that the Business Man 

 was playing with the soup spoon instead of eating, 

 mercifully inquired, " Have you got tired of your 

 plate?" Disgust, relief, unsatisfied longing and 

 a choice variety of unclassified emotions expressed 

 themselves through the hasty affirmative of 

 the B. M. 



If this chapter did not aim to treat of fishing, 



