OF THE OTHER RODS 27 



Such was the scene of my encounter with 

 Mr. Blennerhassett. 



I had been waiting during two hours for some- 

 thing to happen. At last it happened. It was a 

 very unpromising little ring, but (because one 

 never knows) I cast over it two or three times. 

 Then I sat down waiting for it to happen again. 



Something else happened. 



Down the bank the bank, mark you ! not the 

 meadow two feet from the verge, as I live 

 came striding a handsome, healthy young man, 

 ruddy, caparisoned for angling. He held his 

 head high, his chest thrown out. A moustache 

 bristled upwards from his lips. As he perceived 

 me a look of haughty disdain disfigured his 

 personable face. He came forward authoritatively. 

 A willow forced him out of the direct path, and 

 so, without disturbing my fish (if it was still there), 

 he reached my side. He was good enough to 

 inquire if I had done anything. I said that I had 

 just failed to hook a fish. He said that he hadn't 

 seen a damned thing all morning. I asked if this 

 was Mr. Blennerhassett. He said it was, and 

 asked me what was the best fly. I told him 

 what I thought was the best fly. He asked 

 me what I thought was the best place at this 

 time of day. I told him the Mill, which is at 

 the extreme top of the water. He said he had 



