102 In Pursuit of the Trout 



Half a dozen fish or so were up, one behind 

 another in a line — a sort of Indian-file affair 

 — and he tried them all. Whilst I munched 

 my sandwiches and biscuits, for all the world 

 as though it were the dead time of the day so 

 far as trouting was concerned, he hammered 

 away with increasing vigour but, as one 

 could soon perceive, decreasing belief in his 

 ability to fill the almost empty bag with 

 trout. The sandwiches and biscuits disposed 

 of, I turned my attention to the sherry-flask. 

 In the days when Mr. Greaves still flourished 

 in the famous old angling hostelry at Bake- 

 well there was a renowned cellar. Every 

 now and then we heard that in some 

 unexplored corner of this cellar a rare old 

 wine — 



' whose father grape grew fat 

 On Lusitanian summers ' — 



or a brandy worth a guinea a bottle, had 

 been discovered and brought to light with 

 the crust of a lifetime upon it. About 

 this particular time a choice old brown 

 sherry had been unearthed, and the same 



