Bass or Busi ness*? 



Said Bill, " Yank," said he, " give the nigger two 

 bits an' he'll go git yer er fishing pole. We-all'l go 

 fishin' in the mawnin'. It's one er them there new 

 fangled kind. Here, you, Jubal, now you-all run ter 

 Kunnel Carstairs 'n tell him to let ther stranger feller 

 from Chicago hev thet thar fishin' pole er his'n with 

 ther j'ints inter it. Hoi' still, Jubal. You tell ther' 

 Kunnel ther bass is risin* an* we'll send him er mess 

 in th' mawnin." 



Bill quieted my half-uttered remonstrance by in- 

 forming me that the good Colonel Carstairs " had 

 the gout in both legs, an' couldn't go fishin' nohow." 



The " fishin' pole, with ther j'ints inter it " came, 

 with the compliments of the Colonel and his good 

 wishes. Before the sun had hid behind the dark- 

 ening hills at the " big bend " our preparations were 

 complete. Bill's final word to dusky Chloe to " put 

 all that chicken, and plenty of pone in the basket," 

 listened good to me. 



Soon we resumed our porch chairs that the inter- 

 rupted narrative might be resumed. But " the best 

 laid plans o' mice and men gang aft aglee." In this 

 vale of tears danger ever lurks. The " unexpected " 

 is but another name for fate unkind fate at that. 

 Pardon the digression I don't mean to be prolix ; 

 I merely desire that a few pertinent facts be known. 



Our chairs were tilted at the right angle, our heels 

 fixed against the rail, just there at the end of the 



63 



