A Furcoated Fish 



have willingly withdrawn a few minutes later, when 

 by a series of unfortunate accidents I lost a fine 

 pickerel. 



Trolling became a flat failure. For an hour or 

 more we worked up and down the lake. Then the 

 guide suggested that we try bait-casting on a near-by 

 reef. Now I was not a good bait-caster. Of course, 

 I knew how the trick was done, for I had read a 

 number of good works on the subject. But when- 

 ever I had attempted to put my acquired precepts 

 into practice, it had been my misfortune to fall into 

 the hands of boatmen of the baser sort, whose cen- 

 sorious comments made it impossible for me to devote 

 my entire attention to the mastering of the art. 



To this day I remember one man, impatient and 

 profane, who bitterly reviled me even while I at- 

 tempted to relieve him of my hooks. He said that 

 my technique was faulty and demanded the attention 

 of a surgeon purged of lamentation and impure 

 expletive, that is what his wicked speech summed up 

 and this, mark you, though the location of his 

 wound made it impossible for him to see what I was 

 doing for his comfort. This experience, coupled with 

 some others, had made me diffident, and I accepted 

 the guide's suggestion with reluctance. 



Things worked well, at first. Neither the Madame 

 nor I tried for distance, and as for accuracy, all we 

 had to do was to keep our lines reasonably well 



41 



