THE MICROBE 



beauty, fresh from the sea and of just six pounds 

 weight. As it stretched its shapely length upon the 

 grass the earth for me swam round in wild career, and 

 I thanked heaven for my godfather and my once 

 accursed tooth. The keeper genuinely pleased, I 

 think, with so adroitly saving the fish, and possibly 

 melted by the momentary distinction I had achieved, 

 forbore to press the mystery of my presence in this 

 sacred spot. So it fell to me to take the initiative. 

 I produced my letter and was quite ready to go before 

 the magistrates or even to prison, if necessary, for 

 exceeding the conditions contained therein. How- 

 ever, the keeper only laughed. And when my pro- 

 spective host from Bangor appeared upon the amazing 

 scene, which he did very shortly as pre-arranged, 

 and gave the worthy Welshman five shillings, it was 

 a fitting crown to the great moment so far of my brief 

 life. 



The pike raid of the preceding year faded into 

 insignificance beside this glorious day. The eighteen- 

 pound pike of the following month, though more 

 curious as a mere incident, did not exalt me to nearly 

 the same extent. The events of the afternoon are 

 not worthy of remembrance ; I looked for a salmon 

 every throw, but found only a few small trout. As 

 I walked that summer evening, however, through the 

 streets of Bangor carrying the fish conspicuously dis- 

 played, I was probably the proudest wight that ever 

 trod its pavements. My host had kindly asked two 

 or three boy friends to his bachelor dinner-table that 

 night when we ate the fish. They were older and I 

 dare say wiser than I, but they seemed to me on that 



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