Tragic Fishing Moments 



h-h-hook you. Very few anglers, Ben, who can take 

 a man's hat off his head first cast." 



Ben by this time had a finger in his mouth, for it 

 was there the plug had first landed, glancing from 

 his hand upward and onward or hatward. The hat 

 had the plug securely imprisoned. Ben broke into a 

 roar. Bass or no bass, he had to laugh. The bass 

 were still there, only right up to the boat by this 

 time. 



Off came the plug and hat; on went yet another 

 plug. I was going to get one of those bass if it cost 

 me my life and Ben's. I didn't like the color of 

 the plug I had just put on, so unsnapped it, grabbed 

 up my tackle-box, put it on the seat beside me, and 

 finaly managed to pry loose a new plug. It had fewer 

 hooks, too ! Leaping up on the seat, I flipped the red- 

 head right among the convivial bass. With a splash it 

 alighted ; almost simultaneously it shot up into the air, 

 a raging, shaking, snorting bass attached thereto! 



"Strike 'im, Sherry! Strike 'im!" shouted Ben. 



" Strike him your godmother ! How the devil can 

 I strike him when he's way out there on the end of 

 the line? Gimme a shotgun an* I'll shoot him!" 



But that bass had a strangle hold on the plug. He 

 shot into the air again. I was ready to leap over- 

 board and graple with him. 



"Reel him in, Sherry!" 



Exactly! reel him in, to be sure! I had for- 

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