The White Sea-bass 15 
not that certain people, usually poor gaffers, 
literally hoodoo the sport. Of all things, he is 
a believer in signs and omens and especially in 
luck. A strange fetich, this luck, which every 
angler woos with more or less success. ‘“ What 
luck?” shouts a friend from a passing boat; and 
if you have bagged your game, it is, “ Joe, hold it 
up.” And Joe holds forth a sixty-pounder, dis- 
playing every angle, that the iron may enter the 
heart of the rival boatman in the other craft, 
who has not gaffed even a gudgeon that day. 
But if there is no luck, no sixty-pounder, the 
angler merely pretends not to hear, and his boat- 
man raises his hands aloft, opening and closing 
his fingers in a mystic signal which can be inter- 
preted from six to ten or anywhere along the 
line. Not St. Peter, but Ananias, is his patron 
saint. What is luck? I have fished for hours by 
the side of a friend, where rod and bait seemed 
identical, and either he or I caught all the fish 
and had all the strikes. The luck was all on 
one side. 
I have seen a lady, fishing with two anglers 
whose fame had reached halfway around the 
world, catch all the fish, five splendid white sea- 
bass, all over fifty pounds, despite the fact that 
