OF PURFLING AGAIN 267 



second thoughts I am compelled to say that it 

 was exactly like a guffaw. In short, it was a 

 guffaw. Purfling never budged. I trusted that 

 he had not heard me, 



I approached him on my stomach through the 

 grass, and when abreast of him bade him a cheery 

 good afternoon. His eyes moved slowly till he 

 saw me. " Ah," he said, " it was you. Don't 

 come any nearer, please. There is a nice fish 

 here. I've been over him for the last hour." 

 "Feeding?" I asked. "No," he said shortly. 

 " Have you risen him ? " I asked, solely to annoy. 

 " No," he said, more shortly. Purfling arouses 

 something hellish in my nature. " What fly have 

 you tried ? " I asked. He became even more rigid 

 than before. He was silent. I was ignored. 

 His left shoulder said plainly, " Please, go away." 

 " Put an alder over him," I said, " and have him 

 out." That touched him, for he sighed. I was 

 no longer ignored. I was pitied. I do not mind 

 whether Purfling pities or ignores me, but perhaps 

 his pity is the more complimentary. I lit a cigar- 

 ette and remained close to Purfling. "Do you 

 mind," I asked in my most servile way, " if I stay 

 and watch you fish. I have never seen you fish, 

 Purfling." Flattery could not reach this man. 

 " Please stay," he said. " You have as much right 

 in this meadow as I." At that moment a motor- 



