Tragic Fishing Moments 



no one about. Hastily assembling my tackle I dropped 

 a Parmacheene Belle into a likely looking spot under 

 the bank. There was a splash and a shower of spray 

 in the dim gray light of early dawn. The rod was 

 all but jerked out of my hand. For fifteen minutes I 

 fought that fish up and down the pond and finally suc- 

 ceeded in gaffing him. It was an enormous lake trout. 

 In the next thirty minutes I caught two more. Then 

 being afraid of intruders, and the circulation becoming 

 stagnant in my pedal extremities, I put the fish in my 

 car and, in the words of the vulgar and unwashed, 

 beat it." 



Fumbling in his pockets he produced a photograph 

 of three magnificent lake trout reposing on the run- 

 ning board of an automobile. The jaws of his hearers 

 collectively sagged in amazement. He replaced the 

 photograph and glanced at his watch ; then pleading an 



engagement excused himself and left the club-room. 



* * * * 



A few days later, very early in the morning, three 

 battered, bruised and disheveled gentlemen in charge 

 of three equally disarrayed cops were lined up before 

 a sleepy desk-sergeant. 



"What's the charge, officer?" asked the lately som- 

 nambulant representative of law and order. 



A collection of much tangled fishing-tackle and 

 broken rods were gingerly tendered by one of the 

 patrolmen as prima facie evidence. 



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