CHAPTER VI. 



Enter MARK WANDLE-WEIR and RICHARD HERON-BILL, 

 on opposite sides of the river. 



Wandle* Absolutely, Dick, I have a mind to hang 

 myself upon this very tree. No less than three casts 

 of choice flies have I anchored already among its 

 boughs, and all while attempting to strike one dull- 

 headed trout, who persists in rising tail foremost, or 

 something very like it. Yet I have no wish to leave 

 the booby without a taste of the cold steel. Were 

 you able to manage from that side of the water, a 

 fly-trailer is certain to start him; he lies to the right 

 of yonder stone, and will steady your basket beauti- 

 fully, weighing upwards of a pound. Throw higher 

 up and softly; ay, he broke the surface. You draw 

 your flies too rapidly. 



