Cause for Cussin' 



Slower and shorter its runs became, and I began 

 to sense victory. It was slowly getting under my con- 

 trol. I got it close to the boat, but it was running 

 too deep for me ever to get a sight of it. 



Then the question arose " How are we going to 

 boat it or land it ? " We had no net, no gaff nothing 

 but bare hands. A regular " gig " was what we 

 needed. " Did I think I could manage the monster 

 now from the bank if we should row ashore and have 

 one of the boys go to a neighboring farm house for a 

 gig?" I thought I could. Then Mitchell put his weight 

 on the oars and headed in with a vicious surge. 



"Oh, he's off!" I yelled. The sad misery of it 

 cannot be described. Mechanically and disconsolately 

 I reeled in my flaccid line. The line, hook and bait 

 were all intact, but from the barb dangled a strip of 

 bark, apparently from a water-logged grape vine. 



The humiliating truth dawned upon all of us at 

 once. None of us had paid any attention to our rela- 

 tive position to anything except the spot where my 

 line was continually cutting the water. Mitch and 

 the crazy boat had supplied all the movement of as 

 great and erratic a fight as it could possibly have been 

 tad the grape vine been a forty-pound cat! 



That afternoon Mitch sulked in the tent, contem- 

 plating his blistered palms; Lyman went over the 

 ridge, squirrel hunting; I sneaked off by myself and 

 fished for pumpkin seed in a pond. 



225 



