92 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



seasons, and, because I was poor, had given up. 

 My anxiety to return to that water (for it was 

 this water), plus the deep affection 1 had for 

 MacArthur, blinded me to the second part of 

 his demand. 



In the course of a few posts MacArthur was 

 the better by a rod for the season and I by twelve 

 guests' tickets. During those early days, while 

 we waited for May to come round, MacArthur's 

 confidence in and reverence for my knowledge 

 and skill were highly gratifying. He had never 

 used a dry fly, and although he had not his equal 

 as a wet-fly fisherman, he was filled with that fear 

 of the chalk-stream and that humbleness of spirit 

 of which I have spoken. He had looked upon 

 those who do their business in clear waters as 

 belonging to an order of beings higher altogether 

 than his own. He abased himself before me as 

 an initiate designate of some esoteric cult might 

 abase himself before its Grand Lama. He re- 

 ceived my lightest word on dry-fly angling as if 

 it were a revelation, and, without a word of com- 

 plaint, permitted me to spend many pounds of his 

 money on the purchase of a valuable rod, reel, 

 line, and other things. He said that if he were 

 permitted by Heaven's help and mine to slay one 

 trout out of that river before he returned into the 

 Orient, he would die blessing my name. 



