7 8 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



and brings a few sportsmen, whose ears we regale 

 with marvellous fish-stories, sending them to bed 

 with bright anticipations of the sport in store for 

 them. 



B and I were smoking our last pipe on the 



piazza, watching the moon as it sank behind the 

 far-off hills, both of us in a dreamy, half-uncon- 

 scious state, when suddenly he turned to me, and 

 in a serious tone of voice propounded the follow- 

 ing momentous question : 



"Stevens, which had you rather -or go a-fish- 

 ing?" 



This remark was not new : I had heard the same 

 question put in the same manner, for the first time, 

 several years after, and double that number before. 

 Neither was the time or place appropriate for such 

 a question. I was displeased that he should put it 

 in that manner : it hurt my feelings ; and, more than 

 that, it made me mad. I cast upon him a withering 

 look ; and with all the theatrical scorn I could 

 crowd into the short sentence I replied, 



"B , you're a fool. Go to bed." And he 



did, and so did I. 



