EPISODICAL 245 



me was a low boat-shed, over which it was just possible, 

 with luck, to pass rod and line, but it involved risks which 

 rendered it most undesirable to do so. So I wanted 

 to kill him above the shed. Gradually I beat him down, 

 and several times I brought him to the side. He did not 

 seem a very big fish, but he felt far too strong for any 

 liberties to be taken; so strong, indeed, that I wondered if 

 he were not foul-hooked. So I made up my mind I must 

 bring him below the boathouse. Therefore, offering him the 

 net when just above the shed, I sent him off at a tangent 

 across the stream, and throwing my body forward on to 

 the roof, and stretching out my arm to its fullest capacity 

 and giving line freely, I brought the rod and line over the 

 dangerous corner ; then, recovering my footing and holding 

 the rod high, I ran down below, winding in line rapidly, and 

 was once more on terms with my fish. He was, however, 

 a long way from being beaten. My friend came up and 

 relieved me of the long-handled landing-net, and made 

 several vain efforts to fetch him out. The fish, however, was 

 full of fight, and had he not attempted a rush into a raft 

 of floating weed by the margin he might have got away. 

 But as I made my effort to get his chin on to the weed the 

 net went under him, and he was out on the bank choking 

 and gasping and still full of fight and fury. The hold of 

 the hook, however, was of the frailest, and another 

 minute might have seen his escape. He was hooked 

 all right, in the roof of the mouth. My friend guessed 

 him at one pound ten ounces, and he had a brace of 

 one pound twelve ounces and one pound fifteen ounces 

 to go by. The keeper's balance, however, said two 

 pounds four ounces; and I am sure he wasn't a patch on 

 the first fish I lost on the simulacrum of my travelling 

 companion. 



