OF A WAR WITH BRAN-NEWCOME 167 



cut across the water. Now on every day on which 

 I fished during that May and most of that June, 

 the river was very high and the wind was from the 

 right, strong and down stream. So, unless the line 

 was thrown very loosely on to the water the heavy 

 current caught it instantly, the fly was dragged 

 out into the middle with a wake like a motor-boat 

 and the fish was put down. 



The position from my point of view was deplor- 

 able. For who was I who am I, just Heaven ! 

 to spare line when I am throwing to a fish twenty 

 yards away ? 



Nevertheless, stimulated by the sight of the 

 fence, I waded through the Running Ditch and 

 wallowed through the wet grass, as yet not very 

 high (though very wet), till I was able to look at 

 the water. My fish was hard at work. Nothing 

 that came his way went past him. I could see 

 him plainly a good trout about 2 Ib. weight 

 lying just under the bank in a little bay. I made 

 my dispositions my ridiculous, presumptuous dis- 

 positions. I tied on some silly fly or other unless 

 'I had one on already, which vital point in my 

 narrative I confess I forget. I got out my 

 absurd line ; I made my asinine allowance for the 

 wind, and I cast. When the wind and the 

 current had done their worst with my lure, the fish 

 had gone away. 



