54 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



The man on the bridge stood very still. His back 

 was towards me. His accoutrements proclaimed 

 him an angler. I arrived and jovially greeted 

 him. 



He returned my salutation; coldly, I thought. 

 I said, " Are you Mr. Purfling ? " He admitted 

 that he was. In my own name he appeared to 

 take no interest, so I told it to him. He said, 

 "Ah!" 



Now when " Ah ! " is all a man has to say about 

 your name, you detest him. I detested Purfling, 

 but I went on being polite. I asked if there 

 was any fly showing yet. He replied that he had 

 seen one female Baetis rhodani. A suspicion 

 entered my mind. I thanked him for the informa- 

 tion, and said that it sounded a rather difficult 

 insect to imitate. " For myself," I added, " I 

 generally stick on an Olive Dun here at this time 

 of the morning in May." He smiled indulgently. 

 " I see," he said, " that I ought to have said Olive 

 Dun." " It would have been better," said I. " I 

 am no scholar." I began to grease my line with a 

 piece of ham fat which I had cut off for that 

 purpose at breakfast, having forgotten to bring any 

 vaseline to Willows. When I had smeared it all 

 over the line and my hands and my trousers, I 

 looked up to find him regarding me with obvious 

 contempt. 



