THE FISHING DAY 73 



fished a ticket-water where the limit was three brace 

 of twelve-inch fish, where a pounder was considered a 

 good one, and where a brace of pounders was esteemed 

 good hunting. On that occasion I found it a very 

 good ticket-water indeed, the best ticket -water I 

 had ever happened upon. Or perhaps it was (a 

 thought which occurred to me in after-meditation) 

 that I was a much better fisherman than I had 

 imagined. For I could not help catching the trout. 

 They simply came and seized my fly and refused 

 to get off. I returned a number, but even so my 

 basket insisted on growing, and at two o'clock I 

 found that all was over. The three brace were 

 caught and killed (they averaged over one pound 

 too), luncheon was eaten, and there was nothing for it 

 but to go home. The real rise began at two, and the 

 fish were then madly on the feed. I went home, 

 thinking that in future I should be well advised not 

 to devote a whole day to so easy a fishery. Fate, 

 however, evens things up to us. Since that day the 

 best basket I have been able to make on that water, 

 doing all I knew, has been three. And I quite see 

 that a brace of pounders there is good hunting. 



That day gave me a nightmare. With its brisk 

 sport and its anxiety as to not reaching the limit 

 too soon, it set me on dreaming during the night. 

 And I dreamed that I was fishing a stream belonging 

 to a club of which I am proud to be a member, a 



