Tragic Fishing Moment is 



tested pal who fell from grace, who sold his fisher- 

 man's soul for a mere fish. With an incoherent yell 

 he threw his beautiful rod across the seats of the boat. 

 It was then and there, boys, I learned to appreciate 

 the value of prayer. Hand over hand, by sheer supe- 

 rior brutal strength, he hauled that fighting patrician 

 of the waters nearer and nearer the boat, while I 

 breathed a prayer. With a heave he brought him over 

 the side of the boat. With a thud I landed on him, 

 winding body and legs over his struggling body like 

 a vise. His wildly flopping tail incessantly splashed 

 dirty water intermingled with various kinds of dead 

 bait into my mouth, which mixture had a very nauseat- 

 ing flavor. My friend sat on top of me as sort of 

 reinforcement to make sure I couldn't or wouldn't let 

 go. We got him on the stringer before the full reali- 

 zation of my friend's downfall rushed into my excited 

 brain. I don't like to go on further, but in justice to 

 myself, I must. 



Two hours elapsed, the last hour of which my pal 

 had been dozing. Think of it, think of the perverted 

 conscience! Slowly an idea had been evolving and 

 revolving in my consciousness. That bass was going 

 to get a fighting chance, and I was going to appease 

 my vanity and dream of years by giving it to him. 

 I pulled in my line. Slowly I drew up the stringer. 

 The bass slapped the water with his tail. I let go 

 and looked off innocently into space when my pal 



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