A Furcoated Fish 



This story is from the brilliant pen of B. F. 

 Wilder, of New York. As you read it, if you are 

 a reserved sort of chap, you will smile often; if 

 not so reserved, you'll laugh outright. And if you 

 are a woman, you will giggle, I think. At any rate, 

 you'll all be mightily amused. You will be read- 

 ing, in my opinion, a little story that might have 

 been written by O. Henry or Mark Twain. 



I declined with thanks when Mr. Dilg first asked 

 me to write on this subject. You see, the word 

 " Tragic " pertains to tragedy a mournful or fatal 

 event, and I have had no tragic moments, not while 

 fishing, anyway. Moreover, though of an industrious, 

 diligent nature, always anxious to be up and doing", 

 lest I overtax myself I have to fight constantly against 

 an impulse to work. But this struggle with my in- 

 nate self has been, I regret to say, sometimes mistaken 

 for laziness; and unquestionably Mr. Dilg fell into 

 this error, for in a terse phrase he rebuked me for 

 the sin of sloth. Smarting under the injustice, but 

 convinced of the futility of argument, I sat down at 

 my typewriter. This is the result : 



As we left the dock the guide took two healthy 

 minnows from the bait pail and placed one on the 



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