The Tables Turned 



Mr. Arthur W. Gibbs hails from Syracuse, New 

 York. A great fisherman of early days, Mr. Reu- 

 ben Wood, came from Syracuse, and the fly bearing 

 his name will always be one of the favorites. Mr. 

 Gibbs' story is very well done; go to it. 



Tragic pertaining to tragedy, death or sorrow - 

 the tragic part of my tale is indelibly recorded in my 

 memory. Whether or not I deserved death I will leave 

 to the unprejudiced judgment of my readers ; the sor- 

 row I must leave to my pal to bear alone. Years have 

 passed, and my sense of humor has deadened my 

 conscience. I am still un for given, but I still grin 

 at the dangerous light in his eyes at the memory. 

 He was a true sportsman. Like myself, his means were 

 limited, yet I've known him to pay thirty dollars for a 

 four-ounce fly-rod to gratify his vanity as an angler, 

 and anything from a pumpkin-seed to an old he-bass 

 had a fighting chance when he held its butt end. Even 

 an angel has been known to fall. I won't be too hard 

 on my pal, for the hand of retribution was swift and 

 sure. The penalty exacted was almost too severe for 

 a lone heart to bear. 



I was a lean, lanky, out-of-doors kid with ambition 

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