x THREE WILD DAYS 177 



we spent an unprofitable day looking out of 

 the window and watching the lightning as it 

 played about and destroyed the surrounding 

 country. When the rain did stop eventually 

 the river was the colour of pea-soup, and 

 roach-fishing being out of the question, we 

 went home disconsolate. 



After this the barometer needle went 

 back to its prognostication of earthquakes, 

 and the indomitable one refused to fish any 

 more. It was not that his heart quailed 

 before our English summer, but that it was 

 filled with righteous indignation. A refusal 

 to fish seemed to him the only way in 

 which he could mark his disapproval of the 

 weather. I acknowledged that he was 

 right, but still I badly wanted to try the 

 stream again, for I was certain that its 

 possibilities were untold. So one morning 

 I bethought me of the old adage which 

 promises sunshine before eleven if it has 

 been raining before seven. It was raining 

 nicely at half-past six, and a brisk wind got 

 up about nine. There was just a chance 

 when I started that this would dissipate the 

 clouds and give the sun its opportunity. I 

 took a fly-rod and set out in my waders and 



N 



