THE FLY 63 



a single fish with them. Besides," he added, "your 

 boatman is a stupid and ignorant fellow who knows 

 nothing of the water." 



I was concerned to hear it, but suggested that my 

 prospects might be less dismal than he supposed. I 

 could not, I said, reasonably expect that a miracle 

 would be wrought in my favour, but I hoped that, 

 under Providence, even the incompetent gillie might 

 place me in the way of an occasional trout less severely 

 critical or hungrier than his fellows, "Your flies," 

 he reiterated with an authority from which there was 

 no appeal, "are of no use whatever, and it is not 

 worth your while trying them. You may as well fish 

 the hillside." 



But that I am a diffident man, easily put down by a 

 peremptory tone and manner, I should have hinted that 

 as this was his first experience of the water, and he had, 

 for quite three weeks, been whipping it in vain, his 

 knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of the fish it held and 

 of the particular harmony in colour with which alone 

 they were to be allured, might not possess the extreme 

 value he himself was inclined to place on it. Being, 

 however, the kind of person I describe, I received his 

 deliverance in becoming meekness — and retained my 

 own opinion. 



