The Poisoned Pool 



Here is a dandy boy story. It runs as smoothly 

 and as songfully as did that little stream where Mr. 

 James P. Prickett, of Rural Retreat, Virginia, when 

 a very little boy, used to fish for suckers. I can see 

 our friend's little stream in my mind's eye, because 

 there was just such a one running through my 

 uncle's farm in Kentucky. Dear me, how I did love 

 to catch suckers in those golden days. Any " old 

 boy " who doesn't like this little tale never spent his 

 boyhood days in the country, and it is a question 

 in my mind if he is much of a fisherman anyway. 



The most tragic incident of my fishing experiences 

 happened when I was a small boy a very small boy, 

 no doubt the reader will think when he reaches the 

 conclusion of this little story when life held no 

 greater charm for me than fishing for suckers. My 

 boyhood days were spent among the mountains of 

 West Virginia, and my fishing career began at an 

 early age when I could not command a better outfit 

 than a cotton string for a line, a hickory pole for a 

 rod, and a bent pin for a hook, and was allowed to 

 fish shallow pools for minnows. When I became a 

 little older a regular " store bought " line and hook 

 were substituted for the cotton line and bent pin, and 



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