A Boatload of Excitement 



That I wasn't having sport with the fish was clear 

 from the very start. If there was any sport in that 

 miserable sight-unseen struggle, that savage, fightin' 

 son-of-a-gun down there in the water was having it all 

 absolutely all. Of course I might have cut the 

 line or thrown the pole overboard as suggested by 

 the ladies, but who ever heard of such a thing? 



Finally, by weaving the pole slowly back and forth, 

 and by exerting every ounce of strength I possessed, 

 I managed to raise this monster near enough to the sur- 

 face to throw the ladies into fresh and acute hysteria, 

 and incidentally, to afford me a blurred glimpse of the 

 most villainous looking creature that ever polluted 

 good lake water. I didn't know just what it was at 

 the time, but it has since developed into a sort of night- 

 mare with jazz music accompaniment. 



Oh, yes ; I finally landed him, as the ladies were try- 

 ing to leave the boat, and that dogfish and I fought 

 it out right there in the midst of my swooning family. 

 That was my most tragic fishing moment. 



Friend Wife and I finally " made up," but that was 

 her first and last lesson in the, to her mind, miscalled 

 " gentle art of angling." 



157 



