THE CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER 3 



fish rising, I put a dry fly over him ; the idiot 

 took it. Up stream he ran, then down stream, 

 then he yielded to the rod and came near me. I 

 tried to unship my landing-net from my button- 

 hole. Vain labour ! I twisted and turned the 

 handle, it would not budge. Finally, I stooped, 

 and attempted to ladle the trout out with the short 

 net ; but he broke the gut, and went off. A land- 

 ing-net is a tedious thing to carry, so is a creel, 

 and a creel is, to me, a superfluity. There is 

 never anything to put in it. If I do catch a trout, 

 I lay him under a big stone, cover him with leaves, 

 and never find him again. I often break my top 

 joint ; so, as I never carry string, I splice it with a 

 bit of the line, which I bite off, for I really cannot 

 be troubled with scissors and I always lose my 

 knife. When a phantom minnow sticks in my 

 clothes, I snap the gut off, and put on another, so 

 that when I reach home I look as if a shoal of 

 fierce minnows had attacked me and hung on like 

 leeches. When a boy, I was once or twice a 

 bait-fisher, but I never carried worms in box or 

 bag. I found them under big stones, or in the 



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