Big Game at Sea 



he knew every rock and hole where a large fish might 

 lurk. He handled a boat as no one else could, and 

 was at once the object of my regard and wonder, and 

 of many who were fortunate in securing his services. 

 I once dropped into camp with a well-known angler, 

 a man of much erudition beyond the realm of tackle, 

 and we found Bill scrubbing up the dishes. While 

 sitting by the smudge watching him, my friend, the 

 Professor, made use of a certain quotation from 

 Sophocles, one with which not one in ten thousand 

 persons, taken as they come, would be familiar. As 

 he rolled it out, as certain gentlemen of the old school 

 love to do, Bill stopped scrubbing his frying pan. 

 " I'm glad to hear that, sir. I've been quoting that 

 line wrong all my life." 



"How did you quote it?" asked the Professor, 

 who held a chair in ancient languages when he wasn't 

 fishing. 



' Why " and Bill gave the quotation, and then 

 as though carried away, kept on quoting line after 

 line until he seemed to remember himself, stopped, 

 and began to scrub again. Doubtless Bill had a his- 

 tory, but I never questioned him. He was one of the 

 best guides and woodsmen in the Adirondacks thirty 

 years ago, before the inundation from the cities; he 

 lies deep in the heart of the great forest. 



The boatmen along the St. Lawrence are a fine 

 body of men, and one finds it difficult, indeed im- 

 possible, to make any comparisons. For a number of 



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